One True Time I Hold To
by impetusjaeger
Summary: The CaeJose Titanic AU no one asked for. /Includes implied Jotakak and a suicide attempt in the first chapter.
1. Chapter 1

Your grandson is a marine biologist, not a historian. But when he asks you to accompany him on this journey, you can only imagine it's because of '_The Ship_'. You'd told him of it years ago, when he was a small child, precocious and eager to hear the tales of his grandfather's childhood. In spite of this, however, he'd never shown much interest in '_The Ship_' in his adulthood, and you suppose it's more or less because of his friend's interest that compels him to ask you for assistance.

"Normally, I wouldn't be coming to you like this," he makes sure to tell you as he carefully helps you down from the helicopter. Always like Jotaro, to make sure he seems completely detached before meticulously attending to your safety. "But seeing as how you were there, Kakyoin would greatly appreciate it if you could tell us everything about her."

"Her," you mumble. As if '_The Ship_' were a living thing. If it was, it was certainly a failure at living, having capsized on her damned maiden voyage. "Well, I suppose I have little to do in my spare time nowadays, yes? Why not spend some talking to youngsters about one of the most traumatic times of my life?"

Jotaro snorts, a hand on your shoulder as he leads you into what you can assume is the control room, decked with an assortment of panels and buttons accompanied with red, green, and blue lights and bulbs. It's a bunch of technological mumbo jumbo you're not meant to understand, so you ignore it. You're here to tell a story.

There are five men in the room, including yourself and Jotaro, a small dog roused from its slumber in a man's arms to peer at you curiously before going back to sleep. You can only recognize one of Jotaro's companions - a man Jotaro has brought around quite frequently to family gatherings, to the point of you questioning (and failing to get an answer) about the true extent of their friendship. Noriaki Kakyoin smiles brightly at you as he moves to shake your hand firmly. "It's good to see you again, Mister Zeppeli."

"You too, Noriaki," you respond. He flicks one of his crewmen off a chair and offers it to you, insisting that you take a seat as the trip must have been uncomfortable and you must be tired. Though annoyed, the man relinquishes his seat and take it gratefully, albeit slowly. Arthritis has not been kind to you in these long years. "Thank you for allowing me to come."

"Oh, please, it's my greatest pleasure," answers Kakyoin, and he turns to ask one of his friends, the dark-haired man carting the dog, to fetch you some tea. "I know this might be difficult… Having to relive moments of the ship. It was horrific, I'm sure, and I thank you for coming forward about all this."

With the way he's phrasing this, you'd imagine he was speaking of coming forward about something else - outlawed in your day, and while still somewhat uncommon, mostly accepted in modern society, which you are more than grateful for. If only this time had come sooner, you wonder if you'd have ever gotten on the ship on the first place.

"They found the drawing," says Jotaro from behind you. He places a hand on the back of your chair, pressing some of his weight on it as he leans forward. "A drawing. I'm sure you remember it well, though I'd really rather I didn't see it."

"You can wonder now why I didn't tell you about it when you were a child, then, hmm?" He notes the smugness in your tone with a slight scowl, and you chuckle to yourself. "I was a good-looking man, Jotaro. Be glad that you have been so heavily influenced by my genes."

He huffs, but doesn't seem any more annoyed than he is humored. "You wish, old man."

A smile plays on Kakyoin's lips and he leans on a console, careful not to flip any switches with his bum. The dog that had been placed down shifts so that it rests precariously in his lap, trusting the human to hold it and make sure it doesn't fall. It raises its head to look at you once more, sniffs, and then relaxes, looking thoroughly nonplussed. You figure he's only here to be a team mascot. "We did find the drawing. And on it, you, and the Red Stone of Aja around your neck. You owned it, didn't you?"

"I did," you whisper. A cup of steaming tea - Earl Grey, from the smell - is offered to you by the man who introduces himself as Avdol, nodding to the silver-haired male whose seat you occupied and identifying him as Polnareff. You mumble thanks and take a sip. "It was many years ago. How I came into contact with it? Well, I suppose that's something from which one should start from the very beginning."

You close your eyes, and the memories come crashing over you. It's all so vivid - the colors, the noise, the smells - and you almost wish that you were back there, if only to see him again. Almost. You're not so foolish as to relive the moments in which you knew him only to feel the pain of losing him all over again.

It's the year 1912, as famous years go. In hindsight, it's probably only famous because of the tragedy, but you've yet to know of it. It's your seventeenth year, stressed by its importance in inheritance, and, according to Grandmother Erina, a radical mood swing accompanying it. You'd argue that you've never had a single temperament maintained conclusively throughout the years, but you never want to argue with your grandmother, who raised you practically from birth.

You knew little of your father Jorge, remembering sparing moments of him in your toddler years, though the main fatherly presence in your life had easily been identified as Grandpa Jonathan and Speedwagon. But you know that he had left the family crippled by debt after his death at the end of a robbery gone wrong, and Grandpa Jonathan had spent most of what remained of his lordly wealth to keep debt collectors and loan sharks off the Joestars' backs.

Unfortunately for the family, Grandpa Jonathan would soon pass away from an aneurysm no one knew existed, and while Speedwagon could only do so much to aid the Joestars before he went under, there was an alternative that arose - a single reason that would compel you to board the Titanic to go across the Atlantic.

Marriage.

You had been pledged to the hand of Suzie Q, an heiress to an oil tycoon, whose father's fortune would surely aid yours when combined with Speedwagon's in not only paying back Jorge Joestar's debts, but also maintaining the Joestars' high-society status.

You had no qualms with the girl herself, pleasant enough, and a childhood friend of yours. You had known her since you were small, though this had done nothing but make her seem more like a sister than anything else in your eyes. It's a twang of guilt that you feel for being unable to give her the matrimonial happiness she wants. You just can't give it to her. Or the entirety of the fairer sex, as it were.

You're as queer as a fucking three dollar bill.

One would imagine that, giving just how you were, you'd be wholly unapologetic about it - had the very concept of sodomy performed between two men be outlawed, of course - and truth be told, you would have been. As luck would have it, though, your family's livelihood depended on the very fact of you not being so. Well, actually, that was dubious. It was clear given the immediacy of your engagement that your emotions toward it had little to do with the confirmation of the action.

But stifling your emotions had never done you well, had it? All you had been doing for the past six months was hate yourself for being something other than what you were needed to be. For being something lesser, something odd, something horrid and an abomination that had never been meant to exist. You remember clearly what an oddity you were, even at a young age.

So sure of yourself, decided entirely in what you were. And when he you had told Grandpa Jonathan, one of the most accepting people you had ever met, he'd laid a puzzled gaze upon you, before smiling and stating that 'Oh, dear boy, 'tis only just a phase', before realizing in the years to would come that perhaps it wasn't, and only then grudgingly growing affectionate of the notion. Before long, it would be as if you never said anything, and for that you were grateful, that Jonathan had grown to accept you.

But the look in his eyes, you never forgot. You would dread to see the same on Suzie's.

It's why you feel caged when you step onto the pier, extending your aid to Suzie Q and her aunt Lisa Lisa, while Speedwagon attended to Grandmother Erina. Your movement is stiff, rigid, every bit the gentleman that you had been raised to be. Courteous and gracious, magnanimous to nearly a fault. "Watch your step."

"Thank you," Suzie smiles. The smell of fresh paint seems to wash over the both of you, and she rests her eyes on the liner before you. "Wow," she breathes. "It's even bigger than I imagined…"

"It's hardly anything to look at, I should think," you sniff, thinking of the _Mauretania_. But even then, you had read the specifications of the ship, noting how much better it was than the _Mauretania_ in both size and capability. It was named _Titanic_ for a reason - for its grandeur and glory. "But I suppose it'll be suitable." You speak merely in jest of course, and Suzie laughs swatting your arm.

"My, this grandson of yours is certainly difficult to please, isn't he?" she giggles, and you smile down at her. "Only the best for a Joestar, I'm assuming."

You wonder if she sees your smile as a cry for help, just as easily as she sees your nonchalance for an attempt to mask just how awestruck you truly are. By the way she grins back, it seems quite notable that she doesn't, and your heart sinks.

Lisa Lisa gives you a look, and you attempt to ignore her eyes drilling into the back of your head. She has been a relatively new presence in Suzie's life, apparently an estranged sister her father, whom you had never heard of, now returned to see her niece married and to move to New York. You find the situation just a bit odd, but you make no mention of it, fearing you'd offend the elegant woman. She's always looking at you, though, and for a moment you might think she wants to snatch you away for her own. It makes you shudder, and you believe that without a doubt no one would stand a chance against her if she truly wanted something.

Speedwagon urges you on the ramp, and you know that there is no going back now. You'll arrive in New York in a few days time, and then within the week, you'll be confined to a life of misery. One would expect you to have a bit on the side, perhaps, if you were truly so unhappy, but if that 'bit' were to be discovered, you'd both be thrown in jail before you could even open your mouth to protest.

Trapped, suffocated, closed, stifled. Why, poor rich boy, living in the heights of society with all the wealth imaginable, with naught to call sadness. The gilded cage you see is clear glass, invisible, and therefore nonexistent to them.

Oh, if only they could see how you wanted nothing more than to fall into the void.

Your feet slap against the wooden deck, shoving past men and women, old and young, on your way to the stern. You've no doubt you look like some ghastly beast, pale, hair thrashed about your head as your tie is loosened and nearly undone, dress shirt untucked and partially unbuttoned. Some make a few offended gasps as you deign to apologize, but you've only a single objective, and that was not to be polite.

Your height allows you to cross the guard railing easily, and your feet rest steadily on the edge of the boat. One little move and you could slip straight off, into the dark waters crashing below. One single movement, just one miniscule shift, and it will all be over. Suzie will be able to maintain the wealth her father has, and if she doesn't marry, she might well soon have the rights to it, and Speedwagon, you've known always that he's had feelings for Grandmother Erina - he'll be there to take care of her. They'd move on without you, all happy, all placated, all simply overjoyed to have their worries, all irrevocably entwined with you, gone.

You're about to do it, about the to make the leap of faith, but a voice startles you and makes your head whip around in surprise.

"Don't do it," someone says, and your eyes dart around. There's no one nearby - you'd made sure that no one be here to see the deed and no stupid hero to save you - but it seems that you had missed someone on the upper deck. A boy, perhaps a few years older than you, with striking blond hair and sea blue eyes watches you. Pink marks sit just below the corners of his eyes, a bandana tied tightly around his head. "You don't want to."

"Don't presume to tell me what I want and don't want to do," you snap, though your hands still grip the railing tightly. Sea foam splatters you, and it feels as if you're stuck and unable to let go. You think for a moment, maybe he's right, but you don't want to prove this upstart right. "G-Go away."

He does the complete opposite, approaching you, hands outstretched. "I'm afraid I can't do that, mister. Now I'm _involved_." You open your mouth to yell at him more, but then he begins to remove his clothing, shrugging off a plain jacket and stripping off his boots. You might've taken a moment to appreciate the fine, sculpted body hidden beneath his attire, but you're not exactly in the best state of mind. "What that means," the man continues, seeming unfazed by your searing glare, "is that if you pitch over, then I'm going to have to come get you."

"Don't be absurd," you hiss. "The fall alone would kill you." As you had planned for it to kill you.

"No, actually. I don't believe so. It's the water that I'm afraid of - it's cold. Chilly." He shudders, as if apparently experienced in the matters of leaping into cold water and apparently surviving. The way he acts, it does not bode well for your attempt. not that you'd be dissuaded by the mere inkling of pain. Or would you?

You look back down at the water. What specks do rise up, striking your skin, they hit like hail upon your flesh, and even just mere droplets are enough to indicate what you might expect. "How cold..?"

"Freezing," supplies the man, he moves to sand next to you, resting on the railing as his lips twist into something of a smirk as he gazes languidly at you. "It'll hurt. Like knives stabbing into your skin. Won't be pleasant. Won't be fast." He shrugs, leaning against the bars. "But that's just my _hypothesis_."

"Your '_hypothesis_'," you mock bitterly, and the man nods and laughs.

"C'mon," the man coaxes, offering his hand. His blue eyes sparkle invitingly, and even in the dark, you can see yourself reflected in them. You look disturbing, drenched in sweat and seawater. Tear marks run all the way down your face, and your eyes are swollen and red. "You'll be okay. Let me get you over the railing."

If you had truly wanted to jump, you would have already, interrupted or no. But you're a coward. You're frightened by the prospect of losing your life, by the bare notion of the freezing water rendering you immobile and in pain, left to die slowly and painfully in the void. And you're cowed still by your pride, preventing you from pulling yourself over and admitting defeat, even though you're _scared_.

You turn to take his hand, though, forcing yourself, managing to pry your hand from the railing to take his, and a bandana thwaps you in the face. "Gah!" you splutter, swatting it away.

The man chuckles again, brushing the fabric back. "Sorry 'bout that. I'm Caesar. Caesar Zeppeli."

"Joseph Joestar," you respond. You hope he doesn't recognize the name. Your grandfather had built up quite the real estate empire after his riches had been burned long before your father was born, and you had wanted, hoped, that his rescue would be genuine - not born of some need to impress a wealthy family.

"Well, Joseph, let's get you back over here." After tucking his bandana safely under the collar of his shirt, he reaches out with this other hand to help you pu. It turns out to be a mistake, as you relinquish your hold on the rail to put a hand on his shoulders.

Your foot slips on the second rung, and you yell as you fall. You let go of Caesar's sleeve, your only hold being on his hand, and thus not quite dragging him down with you.

Panic strikes you, and you flail as you dangle. Caesar grimaces, bracing himself against the bars as he tugs you upward. He's unable to fully drag you up, and his grip loosens with his attempt. You scream and wail for help, digging your fingers into crags along the ship's stern. Had you been coherent, you might have noticed the plating was somewhat weak and wouldn't hold up against a large-scale collision. But your priority was staying alive - ironic, considering just what had put you in this situation.

"Joseph!" yells Caesar. "You've gotta pull yourself up! I can't do this by myself, Joseph! You're a big guy, c'mon!"

It takes you a moment to gather yourself, and you manage to focus. You swing a hand over, grabbing the lowest rung of the railing. With some effort, you drag yourself up, bracing your feet against the stern and inch your way up far enough for Caesar to haul you back to safety.

Slamming against the deck, you get the wind knocked out of you. Caesar lies on top of you, panting. His bandana has gotten loose from its binding and hangs limply in your face, causing you to brush it back and end up cradling Caesar's head in your soft palm.

Catching yourself, you withdraw your hand, the purple and yellow fabric falling to tickle your forehead once more. Caesar smiles down at you, eyes half-lidded, and you wish the words "You too?" would fall out of his mouth, but they don't, even as his head lowers towards yours ever so slightly.

A whistle causes you to separate, and Caesar pulls you up by the lapels of your shirt.

"How dare you?" you hear Grandmother Erina cry before even seeing her approach, the telltale clicking of her heels announcing her presence. Before you so much as think about protesting, she slaps Caesar across the face. You both freeze, and for the barest of moments, you believe you'll also be on the same end of her slap, you queer, for performing acts of buggery in broad moonlight.

But then, Erina speaks again, and you mask your sigh of relief as a shiver.

"What makes you think you can steal from my grandson?" she shrieks. "Do you have any idea who he is?"

"Joseph Joestar," Caesar mumbles, dazed, and you rush to his defense, squeezing between the two of them.

"Grandmother Erina," you say, hands outstretched placatingly. Your horror worsens when the master-at-arms and several guards join you on the deck, grabbing Caesar swiftly and cuffing him in a single, smooth motion. How wonderful, you've created a spectacle. "This is a huge misunderstanding… I was leaning over the railing, and I fell in… But Caesar saved me. He grabbed me before I could hit the water and pulled me back up."

Lisa Lisa approaches with her niece and Speedwagon at her heels, and you could just scream. Maybe you should have just jumped. Caesar wouldn't be in cuffs, uninvolved, and it'd save you from the extreme embarrassment you struggle to hide. One might mistake it for you being embarrassed by the fall, and for that, you are grateful.

"Why, pray tell," asks Lisa Lisa, "were you leaning over the railing, of all things?"

"You are rather large, my boy," agrees Speedwagon, not unkindly. "Too far, and you'd tip right over."

"Well, I was looking at the… the… the, um…" Your hands cycles in a small windmill motion as you work through the lie, but your brain isn't working from the cold, and you simply end up repeating the same word over and over.

Your fiancee is a godsend. "The propellers?" she suggests at your elbow. As thanks, you squeeze her gently to your side.

"Yes, the propellers. They're pretty far out, so I just… Um." Eloquent, Joseph. The vernacular of a gentleman, just like Grandpa Jonathan. "Fell."

"Well?" questions the master-of-arms, shaking Caesar slightly. His cuffs make an accusatory clank, and you feel your cheeks redden. "Is this the truth?"

Caesar pauses, levelling you with an appreciative gaze. "Yes. Yes, that's correct."

Erina looks horrified, bless her soul, and apologizes profusely as Caesar is uncuffed. It's understandable what she did, you suppose, if a bit excessive. You're her only living relative left, after both Grandpa Jonathan and your father had died. She's always been protective of you, and you had never known your mother. It was really only her to hold you when you cried, who made sure you were happy and nurtured. You imagine she'd want you to keep some of the wealth that Grandpa Jonathan had left you, kept as family heirlooms never to be sold off to settle your father's debts.

Caesar waves off her apologies good-naturedly with equal amounts of "It's fine"s, rubbing his wrists tenderly. They're not red from chafing, but you can't imagine the steel is any warmer than the water below you. He seems to stare after the master-at-arms suspiciously as he walks off, but you think little of it.

"Perhaps," you murmur, and all eyes fall upon you, "perhaps, as thanks, for saving my stupid hide... You could join us for dinner tomorrow, in First Class, Caesar? Perhaps then you could regale my company with your tale of heroism."

Caesar smiles wryly. "Perhaps."

Before he can say more, Suzie wraps her arms around you, squeezing you harder than you thought she was capable. "Joseph, you're so cold!" she gasps, then wraps part of her shawl around you. It doesn't make its way back to her, your shoulders too broad to allow it. "It's not going to get any better up here. Come, let's get back to your room and warm you up."

Lifting his fingers in a slight wave, Caesar bids you farewell. He mutters something about having to finish his pack of cigarettes before heading down, and you watch him, resting against the railing again, as you descend into your naval prison.


	2. Chapter 2

After some snooping around in Third Class, you manage to find Caesar, and you are overjoyed to leave the cramped quarters. They all looked at you with such disgust and distaste, you aren't sure you could manage the crushing weight of their glares for any moment longer before Caesar ushers you up the stairs. It makes it painfully clear how big the wealth gap between the two of you is, and while you're one engagement away from being just as poor as them, it's still jarring to see how grimy and smelly they are, as opposed to the refined dignity embellishing the entirety of First Class, personal scandals excluded.

Caesar pulls you up onto the deck, First Class territory mainly, but you can see a couple of Second Class families watching the horizon and a few Third Class loiterers. He grins sheepishly at you, apologizing for his roommates' brusque treatment of you. "They don't usually take kindly to suits. Mark 'specially. We've been together for as long as I can remember, and he just… I guess he gets sort of protective."

You freeze. "Together…?" It's quiet, but the way Caesar starts and stiffens is clear.

"We're friends. He's on his way to get married to his girl back home." The excuse doesn't seem forced, but there's a tenseness in Caesar that you hadn't noticed before. He's a lot cooler than he was the night before, more withdrawn and collected.

Perhaps you had been wrong about him.

Attempting to make amends, you fumble and fail horribly. "There's nothing wrong with being together. I mean, the law would disagree, and well, I suppose God would, and nature, and… I'm going to stop talking." You do, and your cheeks flame. You've managed to make Caesar smile at you again, not unkindly, but definitely teasing.

"Mm-hmm." He hums, and sits down on a bench. He pats invitingly, and you reluctantly take a seat next to him. You figure you're a little too close, but Caesar doesn't say anything, and so you don't move.

"So…," you mumble, attempting to fill the silence.

"What's your story?" ask the both of you at the same time. You splutter and Caesar snorts, and you gesture for him to go first. "I'd like to know more about my savior," you add, leaning forward slightly to display your interest.

"'_Savior_'," Caesar repeats thoughtfully. He rests his head in his chin as he twists, placing his elbow on the back of the bench and eyes you curiously. "Do you really think of me as one? You wanted to die last night. Did I actually change your mind?"

Had he, though? He'd stopped you. Made you realize just how scared and unprepared you were for the consequences of your actions. But had that actually made you think that you had something worth living for?

Not really. You had deluded yourself into thinking Caesar was something to live for. You were intrigued by him, by how someone so low on the social ladder would waste his time attempting to save the life of a man he'd never met, rather than taking his money and making himself rich. Few poor people you have met have had the heart of gold he had, but then again, you lived something of a sheltered existence as it was. And maybe, just maybe, Caesar was an anchor to hold onto for now.

"I don't want to talk about that," you say offhandedly, waving away the notion. "I just want to know about you. Where are you from? What are you doing here? Oh, that sounded a bit rude, didn't it? Um, how did you come aboard, perhaps?"

Caesar snorts, flicking your forehead. "I'm not that easily offended, Joestar. I'm a man of fortitude. Strength. The paragon of nobility."

"Says the man with no noble title."

"Semantics."

"You're avoiding my question, Caesar."

"Maybe I am, Joseph." He turns his head, eyes closed as he huffs. He opens one quickly, peering at you through his periphery, and you make a point to put on your best puppy eyes possible. "Fine. I was born in Naples, Italy, to a poor man and an equally poor wife. I had many siblings, but they all parted ways when trying to find work. I decided to become an artist, and so I traveled the world. Won my ticket onto the _Titanic_."

"Won?" you question. "As in… from some sort of art competition or something?"

"No, no, no," Caesar guffaws. "I wish it were something so classy. It was poker. I had a full house, the other guy had two pairs."

You'd played poker once or twice with Speedwagon, but he'd always caught you cheating. He'd cluck disapprovingly before confessing he used the same tricks in his youth. You never played fair, but you feel like Caesar might be one to. "Quite lucky, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't know," Caesar ponders, scratching at his chin. "I'm a starving artist in every sense of the phrase. I don't have a house, nor a bank account. I've only got a few dollars to my name. Oh, and I have to thank you for being my hero, too. Because I won the tickets, my name isn't on them. I'd be in big trouble if they found out. Mine and Mark's both, actually."

"Oh, well, then you're very welcome." You tilt your chin up in a humorous display of arrogance, and Caesar smacks the bottom of your chin slightly with the tips of his fingers jokingly. "Ow…"

"Your turn," says Caesar. His voice turned low, husky, and you purse your lips at him before bursting out into a laugh. What that voice is, you don't know, but his attempt at a smoulder makes you giggle.

"My turn what, again?" you ask.

"To tell your life story," says Caesar, sounding facetiously exasperated. He twists his voice into a mockery of yours. "Where are you from, dear sir? Ahem, pardon me, how did you come aboard, good man? Jolly good!"

You stare incredulously at him for a few seconds, silent as your brows furrow. A look of panic seizes his face, and he rushes quickly to apologize if he's offended you. When he begins to look genuinely saddened for having made you feel bad, you laugh uproariously, pitching forward to rest your head on his shoulder as you simply can't muster the strength to keep yourself upright.

When you collect yourself, Caesar looks red in the face (more out of embarrassment than anger, thank God) and he huffs, turning away quickly so that his back is fully facing you. "That was uncalled for, and rude. Honestly, I expected more from a gentleman."

"I'm sorry," you whine, dragging out the last syllable. You bend forward to wrap your arms around him, his broad back pressing into your chest. You pretend not to admire his pectorals flexing beneath your forearms as you tighten them around him, and he shifts his head slightly to glare at you. "I'm sorry, I just couldn't - I'm so sorry!"

Caesar sniffs, then sighs. He smiles and flicks your forehead. "Fine. I forgive you. But if you really want my full forgiveness, then you'll answer the questions."

"I suppose." You had meant to avoid talking about yourself whenever possible, but it was only fair, since you had made him answer as well. "Ermm, where to start… Well, I was born in London. I was raised for a few years by my father Jorge, as far as I know, alone, since I have no recollection of my mother. Grandmother Erina and Grandpa Jonathan took care of my after my father died and left the family in a mountain of debt. That blonde little thing you saw last night - the young one, mind you - is my fiancee, and I'm going to marry her once we dock in New York, because she's rich and I'm about to be poor, so obviously that needs to be remedied… And I came aboard by walking on the plank in."

Your bitterness is not masked at all. You're miserable and you make sure he knows it. You make sure that he knows just what he world he stopped you from living. You know from the way he's looking at you that he's judging you, and you feel the urge to defend yourself.

"Oh, I know just what's going on in your head. Poor rich man, capable of taking over the world if he wanted to with his wealth, the big man, the powerful man. At least I'm not homeless, or poor. I've got what I've got and I should appreciate it, shouldn't I? But it's a trap. It's a cage. It's some sort of box this world has got me trapped, and I'm never going to get out because I've got no choice."

You run a hand over your face and scratching at your head. You breathe heavily, and Caesar watches you without a word.

"I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lay it on you like this."

Caesar still doesn't say anything, and you look up at him cautiously. You expect hatred, disdain, disgust. You don't expect pure-hearted sympathy. His eyes glisten and he looks like he wants to hug you, right then and there, and you wish he would just do it. You see his adam's apple bob as he swallows and gathers his words.

"Joseph…"

"Yes?"

"Do you love her?"

You flinch and stiffen. The nerve of him… How dare he ask you… "W-what… That's certainly a rude question, isn't it Mister Zeppeli? I don't think it's any of your business - I can forgive you for getting involved last night because I seemingly interrupted your smoking break, but, well, then now, it's just… Unwarranted."

"It's a simple question, Joseph. You said you were in a cage. Are you in a cage with someone you love?"

You splutter and stand up, turning away. "I'm not answering this question. It isn't your place to ask, and so I'm not going to satisfy you with an answer. I'm not. It's rude."

Caesar stands up with you, putting a hand on your shoulder as he turns you to look at him. "Look, Joseph, I'm sorry, but I'm trying to help you out. If you'd just let me -"

"I didn't ask for your help, Mister Zeppeli. I just came down to Third Class to thank you, and now I have. Which means, of course, that I should be leaving." You button up your suit jacket and make it ten steps down the deck before you realize. "Hey, no, wait a minute - this is my territory! You leave."

"That's awfully rude, Mister Joestar," Caesar mocks, crossing his arms. "Why, you said it yourself, you came to thank me and now you're scorning me? This kind of behavior is unbefitting of a gentleman, I should think."

"Well…" You puff your cheeks up. "You started it!" Real mature, Joseph. You're sure Grandpa Jonathan would be proud.

"Oh, did I? You were the one who went off on a tangent, friend!" He doesn't seem angry, merely incredulous at your change of temperament.

You want to leave, but a larger part of you begs you to stay, and so you turn to the brown accessory he's been toting around all morning. "What is this?" you snap, yanking it from him. Upon closer inspection, it's a sketchbook, and you open to find an assortment of loose sketches.

Some of them are of men, some are women. You recognize a few passengers sketched on a few pages, some looking over the rail at the blue sea, others gazing at the smokestacks and pure size of the _Titanic _herself. There's you, on a page, but in your embarrassment, you flip it over and force yourself to forget about it. There's one thing in common about all of them, still. They're amazing.

"This is exquisite work, Caesar," you breathe, and each line captures you with every smudge, every bit of shading. You wonder why he hasn't struck gold, with those godly hands of his. "No, really," you say when he scoffs and looks away, "you have a _talent_, Caesar. My god…"

Turning the page, you get to the nude sketches, and immediately you go red. There's a few women here and there, and a man strewn in sheets basking in a glow you can certainly place rather lewdly, and you look back up at him. "These are all drawn from life?"

"Mm-hmm." He doesn't say more, and his eyes fall upon the sketch of the man. "Met him in Madrid. The others are all French girls."

You look over them again, finding one of note. "You liked her, didn't you?" you say, pointing to one figure in particular. She has voluptuous hair that tumbles far past her shoulders and stops just around her waist, with an equally voluptuous body to match. He paid special attention to her curves, and slender arms that wrap around her body. "You kept drawing her a lot."

"Yes," he says. "I did."

"And I think I know why," you tease, hoping to get back on his good graces if you've annoyed him with your rude behavior moments prior. "You had a love affair with her, didn't you? You're a womanizer, I bet - all Italians are."

Caesar laughs at that, throwing his head back. "No, no, Joseph, you've got it all wrong." He leans over, whispering in your ear. He pats the sketch of the man, who is also, like the woman, drawn several times over. "The one I had the love affair with is him."

It's all the confirmation you need. You hum thoughtfully, watching his eyes for any note of mischief or betrayal. He doesn't seem like the type to turn himself in, and Caesar's mouth, which you had seen bent in an amiable smile or a calm quirk was now pulled into what you could only describe as a smouldering smirk.

Surely, he couldn't be attempting to do this all in public, could he? Caesar's dangerously close, and you can feel his breath fanning on your skin as he leans over you. You don't say anything, and he fills in the silence with the least erotic thing that could possibly have fallen out of his perfect mouth. "I kept drawing the woman because she was a one-legged prostitute."

Shocked out of whatever daze you were in, you look down at the full bodied sketch of the woman, and see that he's right. "Oh!" you gasp, laughing along with Caesar when he chortles at your reaction. You hadn't noticed, caught in watching the contours of her face, her long luscious hair, and, rather embarrassingly, for a moment by her breasts, but it definitely serves to cut heated tension between you.

Caesar chuckles as he leans back, and the dinner bell rings. "Do they have to treat a simple meal like some damn cavalry march? Good God."

"Zeppeli?" Speedwagon repeats, a spoon of his soup suspended between his head and his bowl. "As in William A. Zeppeli, perhaps?"

"The one and only," confirms Caesar. He looks dashing in his tuxedo, surely borrowed by Maggie Brown, a good friend of Grandmother Erina's, as it so happened, nicely fitted to accentuate his broad, muscular shoulders. Were it not for the pink marks sitting under his eyes, which you can only assume to be tattoos, he'd be the paragon of high society. His headband is noticeably absent, and you believe that this is the first time you've actually seen his forehead. "I'm his grandson."

"It makes sense," remarks Grandmother Erina. "You carry yourself well around First Class - one might even mistake you for a resident, my dear. Your grandfather had that sort of nobility about him. He was close friends with my husband, as you know."

It's a struggle to avoid Caesar's flirtatious looks from across the table, seated somewhat cramped in between Suzie and Erina. Lisa Lisa and Speedwagon sit on Caesar's left and right respectively, and only Lisa Lisa hasn't seemed particularly warmed towards Caesar, though she isn't quite indisposed towards his company, to your relief.

Suzie has taken quite a shine to him, however, and they make fast and wondrous friends. It makes you feel left out when they begin to speak fervently, though you can't imagine what goes through those blonde heads of theirs. Noting your dejectedness, Caesar is quick to pull you into conversation, and it occurs to you that Lisa Lisa is the only other brunette at the table.

"So, Caesar," says Lisa Lisa, speaking for the first time since the entrées arrived, "what exactly is it you do for a living? It was my understanding that William Zeppeli was not a man of wealth when he died."

"I'm an artist," answers Caesar, "so I travel around."

"Indeed, he's fantastic," you interject. "It's a wonder how you've not made yourself a fortune."

"Well, the people in Paris," muses Caesar, pronouncing the name of the city as one of its natives would, 'Pah-ree', "didn't seem to think much of them."

"Paris?" Speedwagon says. "Figures, it's the Frenchmen."

"Oh, I travel everywhere, really," says Caesar, leaning back in his chair. "Started from Naples, went to Berlin and Paris and London. My current address is the RMS Titanic, as far as the world is concerned. But I make do."

Lisa Lisa's eyes narrow slightly, though not judgmentally. "And you're satisfied by this? Drifting aimlessly from place to place?"

"It's the greatest thing in the world," responds Caesar, the most serious you've ever seen him. "I love it, never knowing what's around the corner, wondering where I might end up next, who I might meet." You're not sure if the person he's winking to is you or Suzie, but you both chuckle.

Lisa Lisa seems unfazed, or rather, apathetic to his response. Caesar visibly shrinks from the lack of approval, but makes no move to retract his words.

Speedwagon peers at his watch, looking at the other gentlemen around the table. While mere acquaintances, they were not affiliated with Jonathan Joestar as directly as your party was, and as such, declined to partake in the conversation. Now, though, as your own golden watch tells you it is nearly nine, they'll have more than enough time to talk.

"I think it's time we should retire to the smoking lounge," announces Speedwagon, and several of his associates rise to join him. "Caesar, will you be coming?"

"No, I'm afraid I have matters to attend to back in Third Class," he declines. "But I thank you for the invitation, Mister Speedwagon."

"And Joseph?"

"Not this time, dear Speedwagon." You cast a glance askance at Caesar, who has risen to his feet and is straightening his jacket. "I think I'll walk Mister Zeppeli down to Third Class and join you later."

"And here I thought you'd be staying with the ladies," Suzie pouts jokingly, and you kiss the top of her head. She giggles and flushes, and Caesar pauses briefly at your motion. "Have fun, you two."

"You too," you call over your shoulder as you steer Caesar away and out the door of the banquet hall. The Grand Staircase seems so much longer with the heat of Caesar's shoulder under your palm and the weight of his amused stare upon you. "What?"

"It's nothing," Caesar says softly. "You answered my question from earlier today, I think."

"What question?"

"Whether or not you loved Suzie," he supplies. "And you do, I think. At least, in your own Joseph-y way."

'Joseph-y'? "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" You don't mean to sound so accusatory, but your over-the-topness always magnifies your emotions far greater than what you intend and want to project. You're lucky Maggie is drawing the attention of the socialites nearby with a raucous joke, and a burst of giggles covers your own outburst.

"You're you, Joseph," Caesar states simply. "You're different - not in a bad way. You're Joseph, in a way that no one else can be Joseph. I don't know how else to explain it. And in your own way, the way of Joseph Joestar, you love Suzie Quatro."

He's right, you suppose. Though to what extent he means and what you feel is up to question. But this night wasn't supposed to be about Suzie Q and you. It's a thank you for Caesar. An otherwise ordinary dinner, but clearly something more for him, if his surprise at the intricacies of the dishes were an inclination.

"Right, well," Caesar mumbles, rubbing his neck, "we should... Get moving."

"Yes."

He apparently expects you to leave after depositing him at the door to a loud, raucous affair, but you follow him in anyways. He quirks his brow slightly, but makes no move to stop you. Instead, he offers you a drink and a seat before a little girl drags him away by his pant legs as he strips off his jacket and unbuttons his shirt.

You make a point to remove your own garments as well, and find a seat near Mark and the other man who had sneered at you earlier that day.

"Li'l Lola got Caesar swept up again?" Mark asks. He's not as standoffish as he was before, and you take it that he's realized you're Caesar's friend as well. "Lass can't get enough of him."

"I don't know, they're rather cute," you muse, wiggling your fingers as Caesar whirls past you with the little girl in his arms. The music, you're unfamiliar with, more accustomed to classical music, but it's a jubilant enough tune, and you easily make the mistake you've been accepted by your tablemates.

They don't push you out of your chair, but their pressing questions of your intentions, of your wealth, family, and status certainly make you contemplate the idea. Instead you find it easier to focus on Caesar, who dances with the child in his arms as if he were made for it, twirling and spinning with expert ease. As the song ends, he bows courteously to the child and moves towards you. Sweat drips noticeably down his brow and his shirt seems a bit damp, but he offers a hand to you anyways.

"Penny for your thoughts?" asks Caesar, panting slightly from the exertion. "You've got quite the furrow in your brow there, Joseph." He pokes the spot between your brows, where you find that there was indeed some tenseness that you hadn't noticed. "Right there."

You swat his hand away with a snort, only to find that it still hangs in front of you, palm up. "What are you doing?"

"Why, I'm asking you to dance with me, of course. The next song is about to begin and I'd hate to stand out there myself looking like an idiot." He smirks cockily at you, as if he knew your answer already. The thought of the two of you dancing as he had with Lola puzzled you.

For one, you were both men, which would make it terribly awkward and obvious to everyone around that the two of you were, by law, criminals. And second of all, you doubt you could manage Caesar's spins with as much grace as Lola did. You're the same size as him, perhaps a few centimeters taller, and you've only known how to lead in dancing, not at all sure how to do any dancing backwards. Suddenly, you appreciate Suzie's skill all the more.

"Oh, you're doing that just fine, if I do say so myself," you tease, eyeing his hand as you rest your cheek in your palm. He wiggles his fingers invitingly. "Your next line will be, 'It's just a bit of fun, Joseph'."

"It's just a bit of fu - How did you do that?" He shakes his head, as if clearing the thought from it. "No matter. If you won't dance with me, then I'm sure Mark will."

At that, you stand up swiftly. "Actually, I'll have you know I'm a fantastic ballroom dancer. Lead the way."

"Oh, my dear, we're not going to be doing any of your upper echelon ballroom dancing. This is Third Class, dear Joseph. Here, we move with the beat and dance till our feet fall off!" The music swells and Caesar yanks you to your feet. It doesn't take you long to analyze just the techniques (and there are none) to the Third Class jive, and it slowly becomes fun as you add onto it yourself. Caesar laughs. "That's the spirit!"

It isn't long before you forget yourselves and join hands, and it's even faster when the music speeds up and Caesar decides it's a good idea to spin you. You whirl in a circle and everything becomes a blur, the only thing you can truly make out being Caesar's laughing face in the barest moments when you can open your eyes because you yourself are laughing far too hard.

It feels good to let loose like this, to allow yourself a moment to forget the pressures that had been stacked upon your shoulders one by one. All that matters in the world right now are you, Caesar, and the mirth surrounding you. From how you had heard associates mention poverty, you had wondered just how one could be so happy living in destitution. But you see now. You know, and you see. They are freer than you could ever dream, and that is where their true happiness lies.

You wish that every waking moment of yours could be spent like this, with Caesar's hands over yours, bouts of laughter spilling out of the both of you, spinning till you go dizzy. You stumble when he releases you and the song finishes, and the two of you crash into each other in a frenzy of giggles. When your head calms enough for you to tell the time, though, you frown. You had spent four hours in Caesar's company, dancing and clapping and having the time of your life drinking disgusting poor-man's beer.

And you had promised Speedwagon you would join him in the smoke lounge. Caesar echoes your sentiment aloud, and you shrug. "All they were going to do was pat themselves on the back for being the masters of the universe. I want no part of such gloating."

Speedwagon wasn't like that, but you knew his company well. Not many knew of his lowly origins, a crook that Grandpa Jonathan had evidently reformed, but everyone knew of the Foundation's philanthropic exploits and his swift rise to wealth from some oil he happened upon to capitalize on. Many were eager to brush shoulders with him knowing that he had no heir and was a bachelor, albeit a rather old one. Few cared when it came to getting money, it seemed, though you wish that your grandmother had seen otherwise when deciding to marry you off to Suzie.

But no matter. Their talks must be long over, and you would have to retire soon, lest Grandmother Erina send out a search party for you. That would be even more embarrassing than the night before. Caesar offers to walk you to the stairwell, and you gratefully accept. You're far too buzzed to make sure you don't fall asleep in the hallway, but the sea breeze will surely wake you up after crossing the deck.

Stopping short of the doorway, Caesar puts a hand on your elbow to stop you. He watches you fondly, and leans in close. "Hey, Joseph…"

Your heart pounds in your ears and you feel a quake set in your bones in a flurry of anticipation. "Y-Yes?" Internally, you curse yourself for shuddering, but it seems he made no note of your apparent nervousness.

Caesar's lips graze your cheek in a manner that is certainly not accidental, and while you had been expecting more, there was definitely no reason for you not to be elated at the movement. He rears back with a gentle smile, squeezing your arm slightly. "I'm glad you didn't jump last night."

He spins on his heel and marches back to the party, less rowdy but certainly nowhere near being over, with a little kick in your step you convince yourself you'd put in him. He disappears down the dingy corridor, and you mumble to yourself as you twist the handle, "Me too."


	3. Chapter 3

Lisa Lisa, of all people, is the one to confront you in the morning (or afternoon, rather, when you finally rouse yourself). She doesn't look enraged, per se, but it's always hard to tell what she's thinking, and she approaches you as you take your brunch alone. Everyone else has already eaten and is doing God knows what, and so you are suitably confused when she decides to corner you when you're all by yourself.

You swallow your mouthful of eggs before quirking a brow. "Can I help you, Lisa Lisa?"

"Joseph," sighs she, and she sits down across from you. She stays silent for a few moments, only serving to confuse you further, before reaching out and then quickly withdrawing her hands. "You and I have never… gotten along, I should think…" 

"You've never given me the opportunity to get along with you," you admit. "I'd like to get to know you better, but you seem so… Unapproachable." It's true. There's a certain iciness about her, something you can't place, though something tells you that you knew of her long before she returned to take upon her duties (were there duties for such a position?) as Suzie's aunt, but you can't quite put your finger on it. It angers you to no end, and makes you feel guilty for being unable to recognize her at her welcoming, as she certainly seemed to know you, and appeared disheartened when you did not return the sentiment.

Lisa Lisa nods gravely, and you have the feeling you won't like the words that will come out of her mouth. By your approximations, they'll have something to do with Caesar. "I… wanted to speak to you about that boy you brought over for dinner last night." Bingo. You're never wrong with your predictions, but you wish you were in this instance. "He's a charming fellow, to be sure. Good company, likable for a enough, but I must ask -"

"'Is there anything about him that might cause you to leave?'" you supply, and she recoils before softening, nodding slowly. "I'm… not sure what you mean. Caesar is my friend. What would I be leaving…?"

"Suzie," answers Lisa Lisa, crossing her arms. It's more a defensive gesture than one of coldness, you note, and she seems more concerned with you than with her niece's feelings, though not stated outright. "Would Caesar be able to drag you away from Suzie into a lifetime of frivolity and freedom, at the cost of your wealth?"

You freeze. Had she read your mind whilst you slept? You had indeed fallen upon your bed with the preconceived, foolish notion that maybe you could escape with Caesar, go with him to Wisconsin where he hoped to reconnect with one of his brothers, and make your way around the world with him. You were well-versed in sleight of hand, and you could have made money off of the talent, while he drew and garnered his share there.

But it had been nothing but a fanciful dream, yet here she stands as if it were a vision about to come true. She knows you better than you thought, and that scares you a little. You jump as her hand falls on top of your own, and she withdraws swiftly, mistaking your surprise for rejection.

She shuts down completely when you look up, just as aloof as you had known her previously. You open your mouth to speak, to defend Caesar and paint yourself as a blighted fool who only dreamed of such fanciful thoughts and romanticisms, but she cuts you off before you can get a sound out. "I didn't want to have to go this far, Joseph, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you never to see that boy again."

"Excuse me?" you say, appalled. Since when has she ever had any reign over you? You were the Joestar heir, about to be an impoverished patrician, sure, but you were the male of the family now. While you took no pride in your privilege, you knew that in any other world you would have been the one reprimanding a woman for frivolous behavior, tossing about the table and the food and making a hissy fit to prove your point - that you were the dominant one who needed their words adhered to. "I don't believe that is your call to make, Lisa Lisa. Suzie Q and I are in no danger of separation because of Caesar Zeppeli, and -"

"Oh, don't be a stupid fool, Joseph," Lisa Lisa snaps. Her voice cuts like a whip and your words die in your throat. "I see the way you look at the boy. He's all you want to be. He's your hopes and your dreams, your aspirations of being some sort of fanciful idealistic child guided by the wind and his own heart. The world is not like that. It is not, for people like us. We are destined to be something great, some example of what it is to be a person. Our wealth, our status, it is something one must live by because it is what we are given."

"And does that make Third Class any less of a person, then?" you ask. You're quieter than you ever thought you could be, low and subdued. "They are given far less than we. But they are more human than any other person in this very room."

Lisa Lisa freezes, and rises. The chair scratches uncomfortably as she does, and you resume your breakfast as she approaches the door. "When you finish," she says calmly, "Suzie has asked for a tour of the boat from none other than the architect - a Mister Thomas Andrews. She would very much appreciate it if you joined us."

Your chewing is your only response, but she doesn't seem to take offense.

"Joseph," she whispers, and you look up spitefully from your brunch. "If I, or Speedwagon, or Suzie ever hear of you seeing that boy again… There will be consequences. The master-at-arms is notified of this. He's not here by legal means, after all, is he?"

The gravity of what she says hits you like a freight train after you've downed all your food.

She knows that Caesar's ticket isn't his. You're not sure if she overheard your conversation the day before, or if she had some other sinister sources you weren't to know about, though her pair of butlers had seemed rather suspicious since you had known them. But she knew, and she could get Caesar in hot water if she told.

You couldn't very well let that happen to your beacon of hope, and so, alone in that small room, you resolve to never see or hear from Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli again.

"But Mister Andrews," you muse, running your finger along the lifeboat resting on the deck, "don't you think this is too few to hold everyone on board, should the ship capsize?"

"The ship certainly won't," Suzie Q gasps, latching onto your arm as her other hand covers her mouth in fright. Such exaggerations you've grown used to, as you had been a performer of such theatrics once upon a time as well. It has its own sort of charm, and Suzie plays off of it well. "My, Joseph, what a terrible thing to say!"

"No, no," amends Mister Andrews, a likable fellow who has put considerable work into the ship only to get stonewalled by his investors who sought nothing but luxury, apparently. "Mister Joestar is indeed correct, there are about a thousand and a half who would be unable to fit on these boats, unfortunately. I had wanted to include more, but there was no more room, according to them, and they had wanted this deck space clear, for whatever reason."

That wasn't very positive, but you had posed the question, so you had best pay close attention to the answer. Lisa Lisa shrugs, and for the hour that the tour has taken, it almost seems as if she hadn't said anything at your brunch, and she treated you just as blankly as she always had. You're starting to question if the event did happen, or if you had just hallucinated it. Whatever the case may be, you weren't about to risk Caesar's safety for it.

Suzie looks up at you, brows raised. "Joseph, are you all right?" she queries, her hand resting on your shoulder. "You seem… quieter than usual. Is something the matter?"

Why yes, your aunt threatened to have my good friend jailed for fraud and impersonating someone, and I'd very much like her to stop. "No," you say instead. "I'm fine, Suzie dear. Thank you for asking, though."

She doesn't seem particularly convinced, but she deigns to say more and instead catches Lisa Lisa's arm, pulling her along as the tour continues. You linger to peer at the lifeboat before an arm yanks you into a nearby room so quickly you don't have any time to protest or call for aid.

Caesar Zeppeli has you pinned against a wall, his hand clamped over your mouth as he stands a hair's breadth away from you.

You shake from the sheer adrenaline and Caesar apologizes before releasing you. "I tried to get ahold of you this morning, but that woman told me not to come anywhere near you ever again."

He pauses, frowning as he rubs the back of his neck. "I thought you'd come around again this morning. I was waiting on deck all morning and then I saw you with Suzie and -"

"She's my fiancée," you respond coldly, and Caesar steps back, almost as if he was struck. "She's the woman I'm to marry, Mister Zeppeli, and the woman I love, so it would only make sense I be by her side. Where I have always belonged. I'm afraid the poor folk just aren't up to par, nice as they are."

"Poor folk," he mumbles. Caesar winces. "Joseph, you don't mean that, surely."

"Don't I? You said it yourself, Caesar. I love her. I love Suzie Quatro. I'll marry her, and we'll have lots of babies and live happily, and we'll -"

Before you can say more, the searing feeling of lips pressed against yours grinds your train of thought to an abrupt halt. Caesar's lips are chapped, just as how you remembered them kissing your cheek after the party earlier in the day, but they don't make the experience any more uncomfortable.

To your chagrin, you feel yourself melt in his arms, and you shove him away forcefully. "What the devil has gotten into you?" you demand, wiping at your lips with the back of your hand. "Get away from me, you queer! This had better be a mistake, or I'll call the master-at-arms!"

His eyes widen, and hurt plasters itself all over his face. He looks as though you've mortally wounded him and he moans, "No, no, Joseph, no. You can't let them do that to you. You can't let yourself waste away in that cage, Joseph. You can't let that fire... That fire I love about you die away like this, Joseph." He reaches forward to cup your cheek but you swat his hand away.

"You're disgusting. You're an abomination and I wish that I had never met you. I'd sooner die than be kissed by you again." All lies that make tears prickle at the back of your eyes. "I don't ever want to see you again. I don't even want to hear your name. Get out of my sight, you monster."

You're both panting heavily, and while you feel wrecked, your heart wrenches at the sight of Caesar's disheveled appearance. His bandana is tied askew, as if he were in a hurry, and his shirt collar is flipped up, one sleeve rolled to his elbow while the other remains hemmed at his wrist. One of his suspenders is twisted and while some part of your mind tells you to fix it for him, you instead watch as he storms away, running a hand over his face.

Once he's out of eyeshot, you collapse against the column he'd had you pressed up against, clapping a hand over your mouth as you struggle to keep yourself from crying. Your vision blurs as your eyes water and it's hard to stop shaking. You can't believe what you've just done. You'd torn Caesar's heart out and stomped on it right in front of him. And what had you been saying? Why, they were all of the thoughts you had felt about yourself, hadn't they? Caesar was too good a soul to have heard those words attacking him. Your guilt is immeasurable, but it's easier to convince yourself that it's for his own safety than your own fear of what would transpire should you fall any deeper in love with a man you'd only met two days ago.

You collect yourself calmly, pacing back and forth until you're sure you've pushed the tears back and your nose is no longer red. You step outside and manage to find Suzie Q waiting nearby. She notices something's off about you, but doesn't say anything and teases you about your bathroom break. It wasn't a bathroom you were in, and Mister Andrews knows this but doesn't say anything, and surely they'd have seen Caesar exiting had they just turned around while waiting for you.

The tour continues on, and you stop listening within about five minutes, holding Suzie close to your side as you walk slowly and ponderously. "You're not asking any questions," she murmurs, leaning in close to you. Her body is pressed up against your arm, and you sigh. You had been doing much questioning when the tour started, half out of curiosity and half to relieve yourself of the tension built about you with Lisa Lisa's earlier conversation, but after your encounter with Caesar, nary a word had escaped you.

"I'm a bit tired," you tell her instead, and run a hand over your face. You scratch at your hair, but make sure to push it back into place, and Suzie huffs.

"I do wish you'd tell me more," she tells you. "You've been different since this whole business of marriage started, Joseph. To be sure, you've gotten a lot kinder, but you've… You've gotten deader, too." It's blunt, how she states it, but you know she means well more than anything.

"I assure you, my dear, that I am still breathing, and my heart still beats. It beats for you, my love." You reach up to stroke her cheek with your fingertips, but she seems unfazed, even disappointed as she swipes your hand away, not unkindly.

"Joseph," she murmurs. "Don't be a fool."

"Everyone keeps telling me that, and I don't see how I am one, because-"

"Your next words will be, 'I'm perfectly content'," she whispers.

"- I'm perfectly content," you slow when you realize she's right, and it feels odd to have your own trick used against you. You suddenly understand why people are so bristly when you use it. "Yes. I'm perfectly content with what I have. This wealth will save my family, Suzie, I can't ask for more."

"You can ask for happiness," Suzie says, and squeezes your shoulder. She pulls away from your arm and stops right in front of you. Her hands reach up to cup your cheeks, and she pulls you down to press your forehead against hers. "You can have better than this. You can have better than a dismal, dingy marriage. You can be with your friend, you can frolic in the freedom you so desperately desire."

"Why…?"

"You look at him differently than you do me. You look at him, and he's all you'll ever want. I'm no fool, Joseph, I can see very clearly. I love you, Joseph, and I know you love me too. But I can't just sit here and watch you die with me when I know you would live with him."

What exactly is she saying...? "Suzie..."

"I saw your boy near the prow as we passed by. He might still be there, if you hurry." She kisses you softly, running her fingers through your hair. "Go get him. I'll cover for you."

And with a shove, she scurries off.

If you needed any more confirmation that she was an angel, you'd gotten it. You hadn't imagined her capable of such kindness, in spite of her good nature and sweet heart. But here she was, urging you to go to Caesar, begging you to allow yourself to love him.

You spin on your heel and break out into a run, barreling up the stairs onto the deck and around a few other denizens who are either shocked by your size our your rush as you zoom past. The sun sets rapidly as you sprint, and you hope Caesar hasn't retreated to his room to brood, as you figure he would.

Sometimes you believe your foresight to be a gift from God, though it seems Caesar is as good a present as any. He stands alone on the prow, hunched over the railing. You approach him slowly.

What do you say? You'd seen him only a few hours ago, spitting in his face and calling him the worst things imaginable, devaluing him as a person and declaring that you had never wanted to see him again.

Your foot makes a floorboard creak and Caesar's head snaps up, whipping around to look at you. His eyes harden, cautious and angry as blue fire ignites in them. "I had thought you never wanted to see my face again." He's angry, understandably so.

Your voice trembles in uncertainty as you speak, and Caesar turns around to face you. You squeeze your elbow, swallowing hard as you struggle to find words of apology, and you push out a few broken sentences, none geared toward justifying your action, and Caesar launches forward to pull you into a hug. "I didn't… I don't know why I… Caesar, look, I'm very sorry."

"Shut up," he tells you as you mumble "I'm sorry" into his chest over and over again, letting his warmth envelop you. He sighs into your hair, pressing his lips to the top of your head. He tugs your chin up and quickly kisses you.

It's warm, everything about him. Heat radiates from his flesh, and you've never had your heart beat so fast as it does when Caesar kisses you, crushing you to his chest so tight you feel you might break.

You kiss him back, finding your hands wandering to his hair as he pulls you toward the railing. He sighs into your mouth and pulls away to gesture, with a flick of his head, to the railing. "Do you want to do something daring?"

"You mean besides committing acts of buggery in public?" you breathe, kissing him again as if to prove your point. "I can't imagine why not, Caesar."

He leads you up, holding onto your hands as you step onto the lowest rung of the rail. It doesn't occur to you just how fast the ship is going until you feel the wind whip your hair and your clothes. Caesar outstretches your arms, keeping them perpendicular to your body, and shifts his hands to hold your ribs to keep you from falling. "Close your eyes," he murmurs in your ear.

When you do, it's the most amazing feeling. You rock easily on the balls of your feet, knowing Caesar has a steady grip on you and isn't about to let you go. It's easy to imagine all sorts of situations while staring at the back of your eyelids, but right now, all you feel is the impression of flight, the thin metal rods beneath your feet easily unnoticeable. The sound of rushing water nearby makes it feel as if you soar just above the sea, and Caesar chuckles at your reaction.

The wind pushes at your shirt, and you feel it billow across your flesh. Caesar's hands feel feather light against your ribcage, and you feel as if you could just stay there forever, free of worry, free of the tortuous burdens of life. There is no solid ground below your feet, and it only serves to further the feeling of flying. A few breathy laughs escape you as you grow accustomed to the impression, and this is something you could picture you doing for the rest of your life.

Being with Caesar, on a quest for adventure, never know the twist and turns you're about to face, but knowing that the two of you will always be by each other's sides as loving sentinels, as guardians against all harm. You can only expect he's getting a mouthful of your hair right now, but Caesar doesn't tense behind you, and so you let yourself relax as you draw your arms back so that your hands rest atop his.

Turning your head, your noses brush, and he hums quietly as he rests his forehead against yours. Some bizarre magnetism draws your lips together, your kiss hungry and wanting. You melt into one another as Caesar pulls you off the railing, and you feel as if the heavens cry out in arduous, amorous want as you come together. As far as you are concerned, you are the only two beings in existence, irrevocably entwined all that was true and holy love.

You're always laughing when you're with Caesar, and you quickly decide that it's a good thing. He always sends you into a fit of giggles, and you him in return, but you currently try to stifle your laughs as you haul him through the corridors of First Class.

You fumble slightly with your key, but manage to get the door open.

"You are sure that they won't be back soon?" Caesar asks again and you nod, his lips latching onto the back of your neck as you hunch over the safe. It's a heavy, dark thing, out of place against your colorful furnishings adorning the small suite you've made your home (and brooding nest) for the past few days. Caesar looks around curiously, and you can tell that along with the banquet, this is the first time he's really gotten to experience high society.

"Lisa Lisa and Suzie are finishing that tour of theirs and Grandmother Erina is likely playing cards with Maggie and Speedwagon," you confirm, and open the safe door.

The safe's innards are rather bare, with a few letters strewn about here and there, belonging to either Lisa Lisa or Suzie, you've deigned to check. A red jewel, the safe's most striking resident, sits on a silver frame, adorned with sapphires that sparkle in the lamplight. In the center of the ruby sits a carved cross, fitting as the jewel was one of the papacy's greatest prides and joys centuries ago.

"The Red Stone of Aja," you respond to Caesar's curious stare. "It's said to have been fashioned by God Himself, though one would think he obviously did so, as Creator of the universe."

"It's the sentiment that counts," murmurs Caesar. He weighs the gem in his hand. "A heavy rock. How did you come across it?"

"It's Suzie's dowry," you admit, and his eyes flick up to yours. Disapproval is heavy in his gaze, and he reaches out a hand to take it from you, presumably to return it to its rightful place, but you hold it closer to yourself and out of his reach. "You're about to tell me to put it back, I know, but hear me out."

Caesar leans against the wall, arms crossed. "I don't like it when you do that... That whole guessing what I'll say."

"Few people do." You bring the Stone up to your chest, letting it hang from its chain. "I have something I want to ask of you."

"Anything for you, Joseph."

"I want you to draw me like one of your Spanish boys, Caesar. I want you to draw me in this."

He nods appraisingly, though you're sure he's still not approving the usage of Suzie's dowry to perform some frivolous act of art, turning to retrieve his tools. "I can do that."

"Wait," you say, and he half turns, brow quirked. He's bent over, and you appreciated his sculpted bum for a few moments before speaking. "I mean,_ only_ this."

He swallows hard, and his pupils visibly dilate. You think it may be a trick of the light, but his cock seems to twitch in his pants. "I can do that too."

You shift into the washroom and undress quickly, pulling off your trousers first, kicking off your shoes and slipping your dress shirt over your head. You can't help feeling self-conscious once all of your clothes lie in a puddle around you, though. You've always had a figure, sure, and long bouts of rugby had toned your muscles into hardened coils beneath your flesh. Many had told you that you'd look somewhat skinny for a man of your wealth, were it not for your height and broad frame. You have little of the weight that would signify one of being rich, and the muscles of a dock worker. You're not sure if it matters much, but when you exit with only the Stone about your neck, you're sure that Caesar's quick and audible inhale is a compliment.

"Joseph," he breathes, eyes scanning you over. Your cheeks redden in embarrassment, but you steel yourself, knowing that you asked for this. You clutch to a nickel in your left palm, and you lean forward to hand it to Caesar.

"As a paying customer, I'm sure you'll do the best you can, Mister Zeppeli." You toss a wink at him, and a bit of satisfaction blooms in the pit of your stomach as you watch him gulp.

He points to the piece of furniture he's dragged out. "On the bed - I mean the couch. The… couch."

His slip of the tongue makes you giggle, but you shift over and lie down on the couch anyway. You readjust your frame to find a pose you know he'd find appealing, judging by the furrow on his brows as you move. He reaches over to pull your right arm into an angle, resting over your head but not quite over your forehead. The other he pulls to lay languidly on your stomach, the heavy Stone dangling over your wrist.

"Perfect," Caesar hums, and resumes his perch on the armchair. Pulling out a piece of charcoal, he begins what you can only assume is a basic sketch. You've had no trouble sitting for portraits before, and Grandmother Erina had often said you were remarkably well-tempered as a baby in your father's arms when it came to painting your visage - a clear example of your early vanity.

There's something different about it, though, with Caesar drawing you. He stares intently at his paper, swiping at times to smudge and occasionally peering up at you. He's more focused than you've ever seen him, and you can't help but laugh. "My Mister Zeppeli, you're quite the professional."

"No laughing," he commands sharply, before smiling. "Relax your face, love." The concentrated look reappears on his face as you acquiesce, his blue eyes lit like fire.

It's near a half hour when he finishes, and when he pulls you close, he shows you the final product. You hardly believe it to be you, the young man staring back with sparkling eyes filled with mirth and mischief. The Stone is hardly the focal point of the image, though just as detailed as the rest, you can't help but be drawn to the rippling muscles, mostly because they are so darkened, his attention on them obvious. Another thing you hadn't realized was that you were so well hung, and Caesar laughs when he sees you quickly look away from your flaccid manhood. He kisses the top of your head, and asks what you think of it.

"It's beautiful," you tell him. It's marvelous and miraculous, how he can channel so much talent with only a slip of paper and charcoal. You feel more beautiful than you ever have before, given his depiction, in which a small part of your brain tells you is surely exaggerated and not at all accurate.

"Only because you are," Caesar whispers, as if having heard your doubts and working to rectify them, and you reward him with a kiss on the cheek before migrating to his lips.

You ask him to put the Stone back in its safe before dressing yourself. You both barely sit on the couch, a robe wrapped around your shoulders, before there is a heavy knock on the door.

"Speedwagon?" Caesar hisses, rising from his crouch.

There was a dinner you were missing. Of course, something had happened to slip your mind. "Damn it... It's probably Loggins - Lisa Lisa's butler or other..." You hadn't been paying much attention to Loggins and Messina since you had known them, and they were more shadows than not to Lisa Lisa, never quite people of their own. It doesn't surprise you that they do her every bidding, one keeping an eye on her, and the other constantly looking for you. Lisa Lisa's threat about Caesar suddenly seems very prevalent in your mind, and you panic slightly as you search for a way to escape.

The doorknob begins to turn, and you drag Caesar into the back and through the bathroom. You're lucky that it's not only adjacent but connected to the communal bathrooms for lower suites, and even in a bathroom with plain slacks and a half-buttoned dress shirt, you manage to outrun Loggins, who clearly isn't expecting you to emerge from the other door.

"Why are we running?" Caesar demands as you round a corner.

The correct thing to do might have been to tell Caesar that Lisa Lisa was blackmailing you into not seeing him, but you tell him it's fun to run instead, and he seems to accept that as fact. You dash down corridors, down spiral staircases, even hopping over a few pipes, but for some reason, Loggins never fails to find you. It would be terrifying, the serious and dark look on his face as he stalks menacingly towards the both of you. Might you have been thinking of something other than the great fun you were having, hauling Caesar around the ship you had once thought a prison, you might have realized that should Loggins have left, he'd no doubt inform Lisa Lisa of your rendezvous with Caesar.

"D'you think he's a robot? How does he keep finding us?" you yell to Caesar over the din. He responds with a breathless laugh, but says nothing more, instead tugging you away from a blocked off entrance to another path.

Funny, how you never figured him to be one for fun and games like this, but here he is now leading the chase. Caesar was a free spirit to you, but not a troublemaker, and so it makes you overjoyed to know that you've instilled, or at the very least awoken some part of you inside of him.

You might have fared better in your escape had you been paying close attention to the tour, but after several dead ends, you manage to slip past Loggins into the boiler room, where several workers demand you leave, as it's too dangerous.

"We are, we are," cries Caesar jovially as he hauls you along into a cargo hold. For all you know, Loggins might have enlisted the entire staff to look for the two of you, and so you're lucky that no one is working in the chill of the hold.

Around you are crates of luggage, all tied down with rope and covered with tarps. It would be easy to hide in here, should you need to, but there is only one exit and that would make it difficult to scurry off in a quick fashion if you were surrounded. You manage to resist the urge to pull off the tarps and open some of the loosely closed boxes, instead focusing on walking deeper into the room, where Caesar seems to be leading you toward something. In the center of the room sits a deep red automobile, looking particularly splendid in the midst of plain boxes. You climb into the back while Caesar takes the front, honking the horn a couple of times.

"Where to, dear sir, my most esteemed patron?" Caesar warbles. His shoulders sit hilariously high in his impression of a posh driver, and some part of you thinks it is actually rather accurate. He casts a glance towards you, peering over his shoulder with laughing eyes and you can't help but snort and flick his forehead.

"To the stars," you hum in his ear, laying your head on his shoulder. You can feel every quake of his body as he chuckles in return, and you lean back to pull him with you into the back. He makes a few surprised protests, kicking out and almost smashing the window and knocking off the wheel, but with some difficulty you pull him on top of you as you lie against the leather cushions of the seats.

He watches you quietly, eyes darting about your face, and, almost as if shoved, he slams down and kisses you hungrily. His tongue pokes past your lips and finds its permanent place down your throat and your hands run up and down his body. He wriggles himself between your legs, settling when he's gotten them firmly wrapped around his waist. Caesar pulls back, peppering your face with kisses before returning to your surely swollen mouth with fervor.

"Caesar," you whisper, and when he looks at you, with all the love and adoration in the world, you know you have him. You're entwined, held together irrevocably, and there will never be a moment from then on in your lives where you won't love him and he won't love you. And you wouldn't have it any other way. "Caesar, touch me."

You guide his hand to your ribs, and he surges forward to meet your lips again. This is where you belong, you think, not trapped in "high-society" with Grandmother Erina and Speedwagon and Suzie and Lisa Lisa. You belong here, in Caesar's warm arms, in freedom and uncertainty. You hum against his mouth, a quiet moan as your hands clamber from his sides to grip his shoulder blades.

Caesar slides under you, detaching briefly from your lips to allow you a good perch before he resumes the motion, teeth clacking with yours as your tongues meet and wrestle. His hands dip underneath your shirt and you tremble as his thumb swipes over a nipple. You set about popping open the buttons of his shirt, tugging his suspenders away and he slips your own attire away. There is heady lust in his eyes, half lidded but striking and azure and beautiful, and you see true love in them.

As he shimmies the both of you out of your pants, you pause, pressing a hand against his chest. "Wait," you gasp, and he pulls away from your neck, where you've no doubt gained a bright red mark, to look at you. "We don't ahem... We don't have anything to prepare..."

"I trust sweat and spit will do the trick," Caesar murmurs, and you twitch as he brings a hand down to squeeze and stroke your cock. "Unless an upperclassman such as yourself would prefer I fetch us some oil?" The way he suggests it makes you think that he's done more with less, and you're not sure whether that makes you trust him more or not.

Caesar's thumb strokes your cheek tenderly, and you lean into his palm. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to," he tells you softly, and you stiffen instantly. You do want this. You do, more than anything else in the world. Your desire for him burns like fire deep within your heart, and you make sure to tell him so. But… "It's your first time, isn't it?"

"Is it that obvious?"

He sits up and kisses a line down your collarbone to your navel, and hums softly. The vibration from his voice makes you shiver, beads of sweat dripping out your back in anticipation. "A little," admits Caesar, and a thumb rubs the skin over your abdomen, dipping his head forward to press his lips against every outlined muscle. "I'll be sure to be gentle."

"I can ask for nothing more," you whisper, and bring him back up to kiss you. You feel his member, warm and throbbing, against your thigh and you reach down experimentally to tug at it. Caesar jerks with a low groan, and you repeat the action, not rough but certainly not light in your movements. He hisses but doesn't tell you to stop, so you're assuming you're doing something right. It feels admittedly a bit odd, to be holding someone else's cock rather than your own as you pump up and down. Your thumb rubs over the head, toying with the slit and applying just a bit of pressure. Caesar gasps and arches forward, and you kiss his exposed jawline.

His throat flexes under your ministrations, and you inch down to take his cock in your mouth. It has a heady taste, musky and throbbing. You take the head into your mouth only, making sure to keep your teeth away from his flesh. You don't trust yourself to graze just yet, but Caesar seems encouraging as his fingers slip into your hair. You suck experimentally at the head, your tongue lightly lapping at the slit. A low groan comes out from above you, and you take that as encouragement, wrapping your tongue around his length as you take more into your mouth.

"Joseph," he moans, chanting your name as if it's the only thing he knows how to say.

Caesar's longer than he is thick, thankfully, but even then, you find yourself feeling his cock at the back of your throat, as close as you can get to the base. You push down a gag, and pull back you, bobbing your head as a hand slides to the base and jerks him in tandem with your mouth, the other softly squeezing and kneading his balls.

The low moans you hear from above you grow louder, and when you peer up at Caesar with half-lidded eyes, he makes an embarrassingly high noise as he bites into his fist. His face is flushed and almost translucent, beads of sweat dripping down his brow. You feel him tense up, and his fingers tilt your chin up and off his dick. His lips capture yours again, and you feel him strike himself to lather spit on his fingers.

Caesar shifts and hums against your shoulder as you feel the tip of his index finger push against your puckered hole. He circles softly around the flesh, a slight tickle making you twitch in his arms, before he kisses the junction between your neck and your shoulder as he pushes into you.

Nothing could have prepared you for the intrusion, and you arch your back and whimper. Caesar bows forward with you, his lips attaching to your clavicle as he keeps his finger where it is. You give him permission to move, and it wriggles deeper in you. It feels odd still, but you're less tense than you were when he had first pushed into you. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, serving to calm you, and you kiss his temple, winding your fingers through his unruly golden hair.

"You all right, love?" he asks you. His brows are pulled in concern, earnest and rather cute, and you brush his hair back, nodding in encouragement. "Tell me if I…" The pad of his fingers rubs against something, and you gasp audibly as pleasure shoots through your body. You're achingly hard now, your throbbing too much to ignore as your head feels cloudy in ecstasy.

"D-do that again," you mumble weakly, and you can almost hear him smirking as he pecks the nape of your neck, shifting his finger again.

You keen, high-pitched and embarrassingly needy as you stroke yourself in time with his finger. A second joins his index, but the sting is no longer uncomfortable and you grind yourself against his hand to get more of him in you. He captures your lips hard, teeth gnashing at your lower lip as he growls almost animalistically as his fingers scissor you. Caesar flips you over, pressing you hard against the plush leather of the back seat and slips a third finger into your hole. He stretches you experimentally, watching you for any signs of discomfort.

"Caesar," you beg for him to continue, a high keen leaving your lips, squeezing his shoulders and dragging your nails down his back, and he applies a bit of pressure to your prostate to appease you. Surprisingly tender, he rests his forehead against yours as he pulls his fingers out, rubbing his length to spread the moisture he'd accumulated.

His hot breath fans your face and you pepper his with kisses, wrapping your legs around his waist as the tip of his cock lines up with your hole. Caesar whispers to you that he loves you over and over as a hand takes your hip and he guides himself into you. You feel your head snap back as you gasp, rutting into him as he fills you.

"Joseph," he whispers, easing into you slowly. He watches you carefully, and a furrow appears between his brows as he watches you bite your lip. He nuzzles your face, his cheeks soft. "Tell me if you want me to stop, love."

His fingers had been rather thin, lithe as an artist's should, and you definitely hadn't expected his girth, in spite of having it in your mouth. You gasp and whine into his shoulder, placing little hickeys as he settles, your ass pressed firmly against his pelvis. You're filled to the brim, unbearably so, and the heat around you has magnified tenfold. He groans lowly, mumbles something about how tight you are, before shifting his hips experimentally.

Every movement sets your nerves on fire, and you force him into a sitting position, settling yourself in his lap and groaning as he pushes deeper. His thick length pushes hard against your prostate as you lift yourself up achingly slow, sliding back down. "You're beautiful," Caesar tells you. His gaze is reverent, and you feel even hotter than you did before.

The windows of the automobile have fogged up, and your hand slaps against the window, eliciting a squeegee from the accumulated moisture as Caesar's movement makes you loose your placement against the window. Your hand travels back to his shoulder, squeezing it tight as your fingers splay over the nape of his neck. "You're amazing," Caesar says. "God, Joseph."

Caesar hisses, reaching between you to palm at your cock, kissing you. You pick up the pace with each thrust, your dick bobbing between the two of you with each movement. Caesar snaps up in tandem, and the sound of slapping flesh fills the cargo hold as you hold each other.

So this is love, you muse. Caesar's face is pure bliss below you, a glow to him you hadn't quite seen before. He seems to note your stare, kissing the tip of your nose, your cheeks and eyelids. His hands migrate to your hips as he presses his lips to yours, and he lifts you up and down on him.

He's not frantic in his movements, affectionate as he rolls his hips and gyrates, pistoning in and out. You shake with the mere power of his thrusts, and you give a few tugs to your cock, keeping in pace with him. "Caesar," you gasp, as the fullness of him slams against your prostate. Your head whites out for a moment, unable to feel anything than the sheer pleasure of him beneath you and inside of you. "Caesar, it feels so _good_."

You tug at tufts of his hair and whine, feeling a white hotness form in the pit of your gut. "Caesar, Caesar," you keen, holding him close. "I'm going to-"

"Come," he moans, "come for me, Joseph."

You obey, your seed shooting out onto both your stomachs as you clench around him, and Caesar's bellow is muffled against your shoulder as you feel his own cum fill you, the warm liquid quickly dripping down your thighs.

He lays you down softly, kissing your face as he holds you to his side. You curl into his chest as the both of you catch your breath, panting in each other's arms. Tuckered out, he pulls his shirt over the both of you. The seating of the automobile is painted with your intermixed seed, but he makes no move to wipe it away. You're lucky enough to not get any on your clothes, but you can feel his cum within you drying fast. It'll get uncomfortable in time, but all you care about is being held in Caesar's arms.

Caesar smiles at you, pressing his face into your hair. He sighs, his nose brushing the top of your head. Your heart flutters, and you drape your arms around his body, intending fullly to never let him go. "I do believe I'm in love with you, Joseph Joestar."

"I think I love you too, Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli."


	4. Chapter 4

You've barely had time to catch your breath, urging Caesar to put his clothes on as fast as possible as you clumsily don your wrinkled shirt and trousers as well, before you hear a pounding on the door of the cargo hold, and you both dash out of the car, sneaking behind crates as you shift past the intruders that find nothing but an empty, if a bit soiled, automobile. They leave the door wide open, and you both take advantage of the opening to run your way to the deck.

Indignant yells follow you, but quite honestly, if they aren't quick enough to snatch you as you dash past, then they've certainly failed at their jobs. Any thief would have snuck away with some prized cargo, let alone two queers escaping from their den of sodomy. Caesar snickers as you decelerate, approaching the stairs, and he fits his arms around you, lips brushing your ear.

Neither of you consider the upper deck's bareness as an opportunity for them to catch the both of you without spectacle, but instead, you find the emptiness as a sort of haven for yourself. It occurs to you that everything that brought you and Caesar together was on the deck, and you would cherish this beloved ship until the end of time for it.

You had met Caesar when you had planned to kill yourself, planned to throw yourself over the stern and into the icy waters alone. He saved you, pulled you in his arms with promises that things will get better, and you had been grateful for that. You'd begun to fall in love with Caesar on the deck, when he'd told you of his life's story and showed you his drawings.

Most important of all, at least, what you consider to be most important, you'd shared your first kiss on the bow. Even despite your hurtful words, screaming and yelling at him, dehumanizing him, Caesar had found it in his heart to forgive you - and even love you. You still remember from a few hours prior how his arms had drawn around you softly, his nose brushed against yours before your lips met and your fingers twined through his hair.

"What are you thinking about?" Caesar asks, breaking you out of your reverie. He leans over the railing and smiles at you, and you move forward to wrap your arms around him, resting your cheek against his back, feeling the muscle flex beneath you as he stretches his arms forward. "Penny for your thoughts, handsome?"

"Just thinking about us," you whisper. You trail kisses across his broad shoulders before pulling him down to graze your lips across his. "How lucky I am to have someone like you loving someone like me." He leans back from the railing, moving to kiss you further. You note a few patrons taking walks along the side, and so you haul him back to a bench, sitting hastily as you plop him beside you.

The last thing you want to do is hide your affections, but you simply can't afford to have a relationship in public - nevermind the fact that it's illegal to even dream about having him in your arms as you had just then. You shush him as he protests, and jerk an elbow at spectators who give you odd looks for your quick retreat from the side.

"There's not much to see here," says Caesar dryly. It's true - the sky is pitch black, the moon in its singularity in the sky. You assume it's the steam from the Titanic that covers the stars, but there's a remarkable lack of a view, though you do not some white blob off to the distance. "Why are we up here again?"

"So that Speedwagon doesn't castrate me for missing Suzie's banquet." He looks mildly surprised - you suppose that Caesar only thought it would be some sort of regular dinner, like the one he attended. He makes a miffed noise, but you wave it off. "She gave me permission to be here with you. Honest. How do you think I knew to look for you?"

His brows rise, and it looks like he's making a mental note to thank Suzie for her efforts later. You need to as well - without her, you'd probably be sulking and regretting every decision you'd made in the past 5 hours. You let yourself press inconspicuously against Caesar's side, and when the family of three has passed, probably to retire for you the night, you kiss him softly.

He draws you in, half pulling you into his lap as his hands cup your face, peppering you with kisses. You rest a hand on his ribcage, letting out a small whimper before a rumble startles you both.

The white blob you'd noted earlier was apparently an iceberg, as shown when it slams into the side of the ship with an earsplitting screech. Chunks of large ice break from the top as the two collide and Caesar hauls you backward. You watch in horror as a particularly large section lands where you both had been sitting earlier.

"Oh my God," Caesar murmurs, his grip on your elbow painfully hard. Before you can respond, the ship shakes and you feel yourselves almost sliding forward. "Are you all right? Nothing hit you?" He looks you over frantically, rubbing your arms and holding you close.

"I'm fine," you reassure. "It sounds like most of the damage was lower, anyway, so… Oh, God." Your travel partners flash in your mind, of how they decided to hold your engagement banquet in First Class. You're sure the lower levels probably got the brunt of the collision, but that would mean anything below deck was possibly torn asunder. "Suzie and the others…"

"Let's go look for them," Caesar tells you. "To see if they're all right." He gives you another reassuring squeeze, pressing you against his chest as he kisses the top of your head. "Hey, you're shaking…"

You are. It's not a tremble of trepidation, you just might be in shock. "I, um… I'm all right. Let's just… Let's go." You pull him down with you, and a few patrons you recognize from First Class are looking around, asking what's going on. From what you can tell, everyone's clueless, and no one can direct you to Suzie and your party. You decide to retreat to your room.

"Hello?" you call out as you enter the hall, while Caesar calls out for Suzie and Speedwagon, peering around the different rooms. "Is anyone there?" You stop before your door, finding it ajar as Suzie, Speedwagon, Erina, Lisa Lisa, and Loggins stand in the center of the room. They all look a bit conflicted, and suddenly, you find Lisa Lisa glaring daggers at you.

"Is everyone okay?" Caesar asks, the first to speak. He's either oblivious to the tension or merely the first unable to take it. His hand is a comforting warmth against the small of your back as he presses up against you. "Lady Erina? You're unhurt?"

Messina brushes past him as he enters. "Seems like it was an iceberg that hit the ship. They didn't tell me how bad it was."

"We were there," you tell them, and their gazes are all drawn on you again. "Me and Caesar - we were up top when the iceberg struck. It… didn't look bad, but we don't know for certain about down here."

It's silent again and you feel like you're going red, then Lisa Lisa speaks up. "It's probably nothing. Just a little turbulence. We all know the real problem in here." She lifts up her hand, and in it is the drawing Caesar did of you, of the Red Stone of Aja. He hadn't given it to you when he'd finished and you'd gone to change, and so you assumed he'd put it in the safe along with the Stone. Your cheeks flame, and Suzie covers her face with her hands. Erina places a hand on her shoulder, and Speedwagon levels you with a disappointed stare.

"That drawing… I can explain -"

"It's not the drawing only, Joseph," Lisa Lisa says. "It's the Stone. It's missing."

"What?"

She steps forward, her heels making muffled noises across the carpet. "I'm willing to bet that he has it. Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli, not a Mister Darius Brando, as it says on his ticket, has had a history in the States of theft, and of general delinquency, including assault and vandalism. I would not be surprised if the boy took the Stone from right under your nose, Joseph."

Messina turns, grabbing Caesar before he can protest, and pats down his pockets. He finds nothing in his pants, but then his hands dip into Caesar's coat pocket, and his eyes widen. He pulls out the Red Stone of Aja, gleaming and amber, and you feel your heart plummet.

"I really am disappointed in you, Joseph," Lisa Lisa murmurs, walking to you and putting her hand on your back, guiding you away from Caesar. "I warned you not to trust him. And you did. Now look what happened. The very jewel that would have brought back your family's title would have been stolen by this vagrant. Darling, darling…"

Whatever she says next is lost on you as you stare at Caesar in incredulity. He said he loved you. You told him you loved him back. You have no doubt that the latter is true, but then… When you had spoken the day before about his life in Italy, Caesar had spoken of his childhood and how he was a waifish thing with a certain lack of a moral compass. He swore to you now that he'd changed, but you have to wonder if he'd been lying just to get on your good side.

His family knew the Joestars, and thus possibly the Quatros and the jewel that they possessed. He could have plotted from the beginning to steal it from you. But how did he figure that worming his way into your heart the best course of action? Had he known just by looking at you what your inclinations were?

Your mind races with thoughts, and you see Caesar's eyes widen. "Joseph," he gasps, "you can't possibly… You can't believe them. Joseph!" You don't respond, and his voice turns to desperation. "Joseph, I love you! I would never do that to you, Joseph! Please!" He attempts to shake out of Messina's grasp, loosening the man's hold on one arm and he lunges at you to grab hold of you.

"You have to believe me, Joseph, I put it back in the safe! Someone… Someone slipped it in my pocket - it has to be that! He bumped into me, this fucker! You don't think he could have put it in my pocket when he did? Joseph!"

Lisa Lisa quickly pulls you backward. You don't have time to marvel her strength, still unsure about Caesar's allegiances. You'd given everything you had to him. You were ready to give up your entire future, any hope of your family regaining its fortune, to be with him. And he'd betrayed your trust, just like that. No, possibly betrayed your trust. You love Caesar, and that means you're going to have to trust him.

"Joseph, please," he whispers, and your heart aches as you resist the urge to reach out to him. You're not sure who to believe - on the one hand, it could just be another hairbrained scheme of Lisa Lisa's to tear you two apart. On the other hand, though, it could just be a poor man's gamble to get back his own fortune, just like you. Unforgivably, after having taken both your heart and your fiancee's prized heirloom. Was it a lie? You couldn't know.

Messina begins to drag Caesar off, citing the master-at-arms's office as to where he was going to dispose of the "alleged thief". You want to go after him, to pull him out of Messina's grasp, but you don't. You can't. If it really is a lie, then you can't let Caesar win. You won't let Caesar win. It hurts you in your core just to watch him screaming for you, but Suzie takes you into her arms and tugs your head down so that it rests on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, rubbing your back. "I'm so sorry, Joseph…" You know that she is, and you bury your face into the crook of her neck as she comforts you with fingers rubbing light trails down the nape of your neck soothingly.

"I wish I had known," you intoned miserably, and another hand falls on your shoulder. It's Lisa Lisa. You don't have the heart to glare at her. She was probably right, after all. Loving Caesar would have only led to your ruin, and now she's proven the fact. She looks like she's about to tell you something important, steeling herself by taking a deep breath, but just as she opens her mouth, one of the crewmen peeks his head into the room.

"S-sorry to interrupt," he says, "but, um… There's been a bit of an… issue? With the ship, I mean." He continues to stutter, before jumping in surprise when Speedwagon tells him to "just spit it out, boy!"

The crewman clears his throat. "The iceberg we collided with earlier had caused a lot more damage than we expected. The ship is expected to flood within a few hours, and so we must ask you to evacuate right now. Leave your belongings, please, as the lifeboats will need to be filled to capacity."

There's a silence in the room after he speaks, before Lisa Lisa snaps back into focus. "The ship… is going to sink?"

At the nervous confirmation, she moves to take Grandmother Erina, placing careful hands on her elbow and her back, and helps lead her out the door. "Thank you," she says to the crewman. "But… what about the rest of the ship? Are there enough lifeboats for everyone on board, including Third Class?" Concern mars her brow, and for a moment, you consider that she's older than she looks.

The crewman gulps nervously and does not reply, instead spinning quickly on his heel to apparently warn another family. Suzie sums up everyone's feelings with a confused "All… right?" and Speedwagon urges the party to go up to the top.

There is a large group accumulated there already. You can recognize a few Second Class families, though the majority are First Class, and you note with slight apprehension that none of your Third Class acquaintances are on the deck with you. There are a few crewmen attempting to quell the confusion of the people around, and you hold Suzie close to your chest protectively.

She squeezes your sides, and mumbles something teasingly about you being more scared than she is, but the tremble in her voice shows that it clearly isn't true. You look around, searching for Caesar's friends. You manage to find and catch Lola's eye, and she sits perched on her grandfather's hip, returning your little wave.

You turn to tell Suzie that you're going to look for Caesar before there's a large groan emanating from the ship, and then an earsplitting creak as the ship suddenly begins to shake and slide. It's a marginal movement, but you can already tell that you're not standing on stable ground. Lifeboats are being lowered, and families from First Class are being loaded in one by one. Women and children are to go first, and so you take the opportunity to look for Caesar.

The damage was lower, a crewman said, and you recalled that the master-at-arm's office was in between Second and Third Class. He could be trapped down there as far as you know, with no way of knowing that the ship was about to capsize let alone knowing of any way out. Even if he did steal from you, he deserved to die with at least a modicum of dignity.

Lisa Lisa shrieks as you break away from the group, ignoring crewmen as they attempt to tell you not to go back down, that it's too dangerous. "They're not going to let men on for a while!" you yell over your shoulder. "You get Grandmother Erina and Suzie on first, and Speedwagon, if you're able! I'm going to look for Caesar!"

Any further protests are negated posed by your party are ignored as you push through crowds of people, a couple of well-intentioned folk grabbing you in an attempt to turn you around. A crewman lets out some noise of protest as you bust open the door, working your way down the stairs.

You hadn't realized there would be this much water as you waded through the floors. There was little moisture in First Class, but as you got to Second Class, there was a steady level of water that lined the floor. Several people you recognize in Third Class and running up top, and Mark stops you to ask where Caesar is.

"The master-at-arms's office," you answer breathlessly. "I'm going to get him! Just get to safety, and we'll meet up with you later!" He seems uncertain, but you give him a rough shove and watch him disappear up the stairwell.

By the time that you get to the office, however, the water has already reached your knees. The uncomfortable feeling of wet socks is easily negated by the sheer cold temperature of the water, and you begin to notice a numbness setting in. "Oh, God, oh God…" you mumble, and Caesar's voice calls out to you.

"Joseph, is that you? Joseph! Joseph!" He stands cuffed to a pipe, and he shakes from what you can only assume to be the freezing seawater. "Hey… Hey…" You dart forward to kiss him, resting your forehead against his. He feels cold, his lips almost like ice. "I knew you'd come. I love you."

"I love you too," you tell him, and then look around. "Where's the key? Did he leave it here?" He shakes his head, and so you begin to search for an alternative. There's nothing - not a blowtorch to burn away the chains, but there is a fire axe, and you wonder if it would be enough.

Almost as if he's reading your mind, Caesar begins to protest. "Can't you… find something else? I, mean… I'm not complaining that you're here to rescue me, I just like having hands and I sort of need them to make a living…"

"You're rambling, sweetheart," you mumble, aiming at a wooden block and then splitting it down the middle. Your aim is a few inches off, but as long as you don't chop his hand off, which would also technically free him, you think you'll be fine. "Close your eyes and make your peace with God."

"That's not really encouraging!" He lets out a yell when you swing the axe, and then marvels that both of his hands are intact. You'd be a little offended at his lack of faith in you, but you're more preoccupied with being relieved that he's safe. He presses his lips firmly against yours, and you stand there for a moment in each other's arms before a rush of water reminds you of the predicament that you're in.

"Up, up!" someone shouts as they pass you in the hall, and you grab Caesar's hand and follow.

"I can't believe the man would just leave you there," you hiss, sharp pains stabbing through your feet as you tread through the water. The lower levels were more scrambled than they ever were before, with people darting around in all directions, some unable to understand the English signs.

The water is like knives slicing you up as the passengers around you kicking it around in their frantic movements combined with your own splashing. This was the pain you could have felt if you had jumped, magnified tenfold, and you're suddenly glad that you didn't. You squeeze Caesar's hand in appreciation, but he seems to construe it as affirmation, as he whispers to you, "I'm right here."

The deck is even more crowded than before, but you recognize Suzie instantly, pressed up to Lisa Lisa's side as they huddle together with Speedwagon and Erina. Coincidentally, Mark and his friend are nearby, and so you and Caesar move to join them.

"You're all right?" asks Erina, and even Lisa Lisa looks mildly concerned. "Oh, Caesar, you're not hurt? You look a little shaken…" Her tone makes you wonder if she truly believed Caesar was a thief, but the question is not your first priority at the moment. She reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, and seems to jerk back slightly. You'd gotten used to the cold accumulated on his skin, but it seemed that she hadn't.

"The water's really cold," he admits, and you confirm with a nod. "But we got out just fine. There are a lot of people trapped down there…" He shivers. "I wish we could've gone back and saved them."

"People are still down there?" Suzie says incredulously. She reaches out to grab both of you. "But there are already a dozen lifeboats lowered! At this rate, there'll never be enough for the rest of them!"

It's what Andrews had said earlier that day, after all. But he had also promised the ship would be unsinkable, and that had been a lie. Then, he had promised that the ship would never have to even use them, though he complained that some of the lifeboats had in fact been moved aside for deck space. Were his words some sort of curse? Some sort of jinx on the ship that thusly needed to sink once it had been promised to be unsinkable.

The crowd begins to thin as women and children from First Class shuffle into the boats. At the very least, they're packing them as tightly as they could be before lowering them. Still, the boats disappearing one by one left a sort of emptiness in your heart. There were definitely not enough for everyone aboard, and you can see that people are coming to the same conclusion.

Your part is already heading towards the front, slipping closer towards the loading station. You rest easy knowing that Suzie Q, Erina, and Lisa Lisa would be able to secure passage on a ship. Both you and Speedwagon could wait, but it's Caesar that worries you the most. He's a Third Class passenger, and a male at that. He would be the last that they would let on, and you don't think you could bear to lose him.

As you had been moving, he reassured you constantly that he wasn't the thief, his hands warming yours as he held them close. When you'd shifted, you caught that the outer parts of his hands were near ice, but the palms were devotedly warming you, and he refused to put his hands in his pockets to warm yourself up. He'd done so much for you already - saved you from throwing yourself to your death, made you realize who you were and what you wanted, and now was risking frostbite to make sure that you didn't.

You wonder if you could actually let him go. If you could pass this off as the greatest moment of your life, being with him, loving him, and being loved back, only to move on when there was no chance that he would come on with you on a lifeboat. You could give your seat up for him, but he'd wholeheartedly refuse and pitch himself into the sea in order to keep you from doing so. He kisses your fingers reverently as you watch him, and you note that he's using his breath to warm the back of his hands. "I love you," you whisper, and he flashes you a smile.

A voice shouting at you breaks you out of your thoughts, and Caesar relinquishes his hold on your hands. The cold air assaults your hands quickly, and a man is beckoning you onto a boat. "But… women and children," you mumble. The crewman gives you a miffed look, and you're sure that you look like an ingrate for not taking the position.

"Get on, boy," Speedwagon tells you, and you realize that there's only one spot left, offering it to you. "We don't exactly have all day."

He's not getting on, though? you wonder. He's elderly - he ought to have first pick, along with the women and children. The resigned look on Speedwagon's face doesn't sit well with you, and so you shake your head. Caesar wouldn't let you give him his seat, but you'd force Speedwagon to take yours. "No, you get on," you tell him, and push him, not roughly, into the seat.

You command the crewman to start letting the boat down, and while the attendant looks slightly surprised, he does begin to do so. Lisa Lisa and Suzie let out gasps and reach out for you, while Erina and Speedwagon sit shocked. Caesar mirrors the latter's expression, though you don't regret your decision. They're too low to make a grab for you, and you watch the boat hit the water with a splash, your friends and family safe on the waters below.

The ship makes another weary groan, a pained noise that spells out worse, and suddenly, people are sliding about. The ship shifts, sliding up and down, before regaining a vague sense of balance.

You turn to Caesar. "Isn't one of your friends still down there? I only saw Mark and Lola with her grandpa up here."

He looks as if he hasn't heard you for a moment, but then shakes his head quickly and nods. "None of us have seen Lorenzo… Wait, you aren't suggesting…"

"I'm gonna go down and look for him," you answer, and his face twists with rage.

"Damnit, Joseph, what the hell are you thinking?" he hisses, and yanks you out of the queue as another wealthy family lines up their daughters, wives, and mothers to board one of the last five lifeboats. "This ship is going to go down. There's no doubt the lower decks are already filled with water, nearly submerged, and you're going to go down there and risk your life for someone who doesn't even like you?"

"Are you going to let your friend die?" you ask, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. "He may not like me, but everyone on this ship deserves a chance to survive - and even then, they shouldn't have to die alone in the icy cold. He's your friend. Are you going to abandon him?"

He tsks, hands resting on his hips. His posture is rigid, tense, and angry. "Lorenzo would have wanted us to live. He would have begged Mark and I to leave him, to let ourselves get a boat even if he couldn't. That's the bond between friends that we have. The love of brothers."

"He doesn't love me like a brother," you tell him, and he only scowls further. You're about to protest more, but he picks up Lola and dumps her in your arms, giving an indignant squawk as he shoves you back in front of the queue.

"The man has a child," he barks out, and the crewman flinches at his severe tone. "There's still room on that boat you're about to crank down, asshole. Let them both on." This must have been what he was like when he was a street punk. Under different circumstances, you might've found his ruggedness attractive, but you were being loaded onto a sinking lifeboat without your consent, and Lola was crying out for her grandfather.

Caesar spins on his heel quickly, moving farther down the deck. That bastard, what the hell was he thinking? You couldn't take care of Lola - you could barely take care of yourself. It dawns upon you that he was doing this so that you wouldn't have to make the choice of leaving him.

The crank gets jammed for a few moments, and Lola wails loudly in your arms, tears streaming down her cheeks as she begs for her grandfather. There's nothing you can do to comfort her, but you attempt to squeeze her arms gently and warm them by rubbing them with your hands. She quiets down as a lady rubs her back, and you take the opportunity to slide out from underneath her.

"Please take care of her," you whisper to the woman, who nods and wraps Lola with her shawl, and you begin to do the stupidest thing you've ever done in your life. The packed lifeboat has to shuffle to accommodate your size, and you're lucky that the crewman is still working the crank in an attempt to get it to turn. You can only assume it's the cold and the water that has jammed the metal, and you take advantage of the lapse in movement to make a leap.

Several people from underneath you gasp, and some let out incredulous yells as you grip onto the railing with both hands. It's slippery, far more than you'd ever felt it on your first night on board, but a few hands reach out to grab you and haul you on board. The crewman looks surprised, but the crank has already lowered the boat and he can't bring it back up to force you back on.

"Caesar was right," Mark breathes, having been one of the people who pulled you up. It was his hand on your wrist, the tightest grip that made sure you didn't collapse into the murky depths. "You are a complete, fucking idiot."

"Thanks," you mumble. You're slightly out of breath from the exertion and exhilaration of dangling there, and your breath fogs as you let out ragged gasps. "Did you see where he went?" You figured he went further down towards the back to be the infuriatingly self-sacrificing bastard that he was. He's nowhere to be seen, his head of golden hair apparently nonexistent on the deck as you rise on your tiptoes to see him, adding to your already abnormal height.

"Yeah, he went downstairs," Mark grits out. "He went to find Lorenzo - and guess whose fault that is."

"Who's the idiot now?" you mumble, and Mark slaps your back, pitching you forward.

"I have a feeling you two are gonna die for each other," he mumbles. "Just go get them both - and make it back yourself if you can. We'd hate it if we couldn't pay you back for saving their dumb, blonde hides." It's the closest to kindness, let alone affection, that you've gotten from Caesar's friends, but you appreciate it nonetheless.

A waist-high wave of water splashes you as you manage to open the door to the lower decks, spilling out up top when you do so. The stairwell is thoroughly soaked, and you dread to think about what it's like down in the lower levels. The water seems to wane around First Class, the ballroom apparently devoid of any liquid (a fact destroyed, of course, when you opened the door), and dozens of frightened denizens shout and dash past you in a mad run for the top.

"Caesar!" you yell, and you note a form turning around. He looks like a wet dog, drenched the whole way through, and it occurs to you that the stairwell may have been more filled with water than what you had witnessed. Caesar's head snaps around, and he looks at you with the most anger and fury that he could possibly muster.

If it wasn't so could, you imagine he'd be going red.

"You complete, total, fucking idiot!" he shouts as he runs over to you, continuing in spurts of Italian you don't understand but wholly comprehend to be curses insulting your intelligence. You expect him to punch you when he reaches you from across the Great Hall, but he grabs your face instead and kisses you hard and rough. People are still spilling out from all sides, a few people in the hallway and more continuing to rise.

You whimper against him, pressing your forehead against his and squeezing him tightly. "You're so stupid, JoJo," he whispers breathlessly. "JoJo, why are you so stupid? JoJo, that was the stupidest thing - JoJo…" He can't seem to say more, and so you kiss all that he means to say out of him.

"Did you find Lorenzo?" you ask quietly, and it seems that he'd forgotten what he went down to do after finding that you'd gone after him. He shakes his head, eyes wide. "Then he must be down at the lower floors. Third Class, probably?"

Caesar nods, and tugs you along with him. His grip is secure around your hand, despite the dryness accumulated by the salt in the seawater, and you've never felt so comforted by a single touch before. He never lets go, even as he sharply turns at corners and swings doors open, and you appreciate it all the more.

When you reach Third Class, it is pure pandemonium. Denizens are screaming and shouting, all in a flurry of different languages, making you realize all of the foreigners had been shoved down to the bottom to make room for the rich whites. Caesar busies himself explaining directions in Italian, though his voice gets mostly swallowed up by the cacophony. You don't remember Lorenzo quite clearly, but you look for him throughout the crowd nonetheless.

He's not in the hallway, and so you move towards more densely populated areas. An old couple still lays in their bed in a room you shuffle by, and while you want to go rouse them, the looks on their faces, peaceful and quaint, signifies that they've had their passing, or resigned themselves to it. Caesar continues to direct those who speak his mother tongue, and you nearly pass by Lorenzo as you continue on.

"Oh, shit," you whisper, and it's the words are about as appropriate as you can make them. A whole horde of people are trapped behind a grate, in the elevator, and you have to tug Caesar away from a family of five to catch his attention. "Caesar, that's him, isn't it?"

Lorenzo is the one pounding at the lock, managing to fit his arms through the hole to jumble at the door only to find that it's jammed. There's no way to get out of those - you'd tried once and it hadn't ended well, for you and for the man who tried to get you out. If you had a key, you might be able to try, but time was wearing thin and there was no sign of an attendant anywhere around, all of them probably having gone up to the deck.

It boils your blood, how they'd just abandoned those unable to understand English or those stuck just to save their own selfish hides. "Lorenzo!" you shout to get his attention. His head snaps up, eyes flicking between you and Caesar, and he beckons you forth.

"Help us, please!" he begs, and you wish so desperately that you could. There's a girl that hovers over his shoulder, and you recognize that he'd been dancing with her the night you joined them in Third Class. "The man tried to get us out, but he dropped the key. After that, he just fled."

So there had been a key. Caesar drops to his knees without a second thought, releasing your hand as he stoops to find it. He yells, presumably at the cold that assaults his hands as he begins his search, but you look up at Lorenzo.

Even if Caesar did find the key, the lock was already frozen shut. There was a clear layer that adopted a light sheen at the right lighting, and when you press your hand to the keyhole, your finger testing to see if anything could be inserted to pick the lock should Caesar be unable to find the key, and you find solidity surging forward to meet you instead.

"Lorenzo, I…" you begin to say. You're unsure of how to continue. You're not his friend, not his brother like Caesar is. Who were you to tell him that he wouldn't make it? Caesar certainly didn't seem like he was giving up, going so far as to put his head beneath the water in his search.

He rises with a gasp, pulling his hair back. His headband, soaked down to even the feathers, droops, and he lets out an unhappy mixture of a pitiful whine and groan, punching the grate in frustration. "It's not there!" he yells, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and index finger. "It probably got swept away by the water… There's no key anywhere. Fuck!"

He moves to attack something else, but you tug him backwards before he could hit one of those trapped behind the grate by accident. You survey their faces, all lost hope as soon as Caesar delivered his message. There are a few elderly, some middle-aged, but the majority couldn't have been more than ten years older than you. Lorenzo's lover squeezed his side, pulling him toward her as she pressed a kiss to his lips.

The sound of rushing water becomes even more apparent, and Lorenzo flinches backward. He looks behind the group of people gathered behind him, and seems displeased with what he sees. "You guys have to go," he says fervently, and tries to shove Caesar from behind his bars. He can't reach so far, and so instead, the tips of his fingers are all that reach Caesar. "Go, hurry!"

"I can't leave you behind," gasps Caesar, refusing to budge. You grip his shoulders and begin to pull him away. "No, Lorenzo! I can still save you - there has to be something… Some way that I can get you out… Lorenzo!" It's no use, and so you forcibly drag him away and round the corner. Now out of eyeshot, Caesar forces himself to run with you towards the stairwell, all while cursing you out. "There was something we could've done to help him, Joseph! We didn't have to leave, there was something that could have been -"

"There was _nothing_," you snap, and Caesar flinches at your tone of voice, "that we could have done to save Lorenzo. He begged us to run because he knew that if we stayed to help, we would have died along with him." It's the same tone you took when you pushed him away earlier, and you shake off the connotation that follows with your rough voice. "You told me before that he wouldn't have wanted you to die with him if you could avoid it. And now he's just proven you correct. The love of brothers, right? Be happy that he still remembers it."

As you make your way up the stairs, a wave attacks your backs, and you shout in surprise and pain as it does. It's a large wall to be able to coat you up to the nape of your neck, and you turn. The water has risen to where your ribcage would have been had you stood on the lowest step. There was no way that Lorenzo would have been able to overcome the shock of the water hitting him so forcefully.

He would've been dragged under, the pain of the freezing temperature keeping him from being able to gasp for air. Within minutes, he would have drowned. You don't tell Caesar, but from the heart wrenching hurt that spreads across his face, you can tell that he's figured it out for himself. What happened to Lorenzo could've - would've - happened to you had Caesar not convinced you to climb back onto the ship. It hurts all the more knowing that he wouldn't be the only one to suffer this fate.

Caesar lets out ragged sobs as you continue, and you pause for a moment to wipe his tears from his eyes. It doesn't stop them from coming, but he thanks you and rests his head in the crook of your neck. He's so wet, so cold, and you force yourself to stifle the shiver his movement elicits. "I love you," you tell him again. "I'm never leaving you."

He doesn't say anything for a long time, but when he pulls away, you hear him whisper under his breath, "We'll see about that."

There's one more stop you want to take, luckily in First Class. Though your knees are probably as blue as the sky now from the cold, you are surprised and relieved to know that the cigar room is rather unscathed, if not for wet splotches along the floor.

"Mr. Andrews!" you gasp, and wade through the Great Hall to get to him. "Mr. Andrews, you have to get out now - most of the water is still down low, but we can still get up on deck. I'm sure there's a boat left that we can get you out on…"

The man doesn't say anything for a long time, instead standing before the mantlepiece quietly. Caesar shifts uncomfortably behind you, having not known the man, and probably anxious due to the fact you're wasting time trying to convince him to come with you. A life vest rests in his hands, and Andrews stares at it pensively before acknowledging your presence.

"I'm sorry, Joseph," he says, and turns to face you. "I promised you and your fiancee safety aboard my ship, but clearly I was wrong." He frowns, twisting the vest in his hands. "The only reason this every happened was because a few people on board wanted headlines. Not only is the Titanic the grandest ship in size, but speed and efficiency as well. This is what we get for reaching for the stars, Joseph. I'm sorry."

"What are you saying?" you whisper, and he hands the vest over to you.

"I only have one," he says, and turns away. "Please, I'd like to go down with my finest creation. I only wish I hadn't failed it. Failed you. You're a good young man, Joseph. I hope that you'll put this vest into good use."

You're about to respond, but Caesar takes the lifejacket from your hands and pulls it over your head, securing it tightly around you before you can think to take it off. Damn him, for always deciding that your life was more important than his. If you managed to get yourself on a lifeboat, Caesar could have worn the vest to give himself a chance. But of course, he wasted it on you.

"You should go, Joseph," Mr. Andrews says, and Caesar begins to tug you away. "I'm not leaving, but it'd be in your best interests to go up on deck now."

You want to refuse, to force him out, but it's his last wish to sink with his ship, and so you acquiesce when Caesar's hold on your sleeve begins to turn into an insistent pull. This will be the last time you see Mr. Andrews, standing forlornly in the cigar room all alone.

The deck hasn't cleared up any when you rise, no lifeboats to be seen on your end of the boat. There may be some on starboard, but it would take too long. Continually, the boat rumbles, and while the stern seems less populated than the bow, it doesn't keep the panic from being confined to areas with more people. The floor begins to slant, and Caesar pulls you along.

A priest attempts to shout words of comfort to the believers in the crowd, as others race to the stern in hopes of grabbing onto the railing. You can only assume it yours and Caesar's size that allows you to forge to the head of the pack, and he hauls you over the side before joining you and pressing you firmly against the railing with his own frame.

People pitch over the sides, hundreds already in the water and floundering for aid. The lifeboats are a safe distance away, and you allow yourself the minor pleasure of knowing your family is safe. Staying up on the deck somehow makes everything feel all the more colder, the wind blowing about your hair and your clothes and doing nothing to warm you up. As the ship begins to slant, people latch onto the railings, hoping that their upper body strength might hold them there.

A few unable to grab on slip away, hitting the coals of metal, slamming into walls and cartwheeling into the icy water below. You shudder at suffering the same fate, broken bones before the absolution of suffocating darkness. It seems Caesar's foresight hasn't failed him, though, as his position on the other side of the railing seems to keep you both from falling off, despite your sizes.

It seems the stern railing has an affinity towards you. It refuses to let you fall, and a loud cracking noise signifying the ship splitting down the middle, the wooden planks splintering as the front detaches from the back. The boat then levels, the rising stern that had been near vertical lowering itself slowly to a horizontal position. An odd noise leaves you, something of a whimper and a laugh, and Caesar looks down at you. "This is the place we first met, isn't it, Caesar?" you murmur, and he nods, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"I'm glad I'm on this side of the bars this time," he whispers, and kisses your forehead again. You hold him close, hoping that lifeboats would be able to slip by the stern to gather those still hanging after scooping everyone out of the water. It's wishful thinking, you know, but it's a fancy that you entertain for the sake of your own sanity.

Caesar watches you as you peer down the deck, frowning as the splitting stops. "Oh no," he murmurs, and reaffirms his grip on the bars. You're about to ask what's wrong, but the ship answers for you as it begins to pitch forward again.

It occurs to you that you've caught no sign of Mark or Lola's grandfather, though you know the girl herself is safe on the boat. Again, people slide down the deck, growing increasingly vertical, crying out for help. You shift slightly to reach out to a blonde woman that holds onto the opposite of the railing. She reminds you of pictures of Grandmother Erina when she was younger, old photos taken alongside a youthful Grandpa Jonathan. But when your fingers brush against hers, they unstick and she shrieks as she falls. It's not your fault - she simply couldn't hold on, but knowing that you had touched her just before she fell to her death leaves you shaking.

Caesar seems to notice, and presses down on you firmer, giving you what warmth he has. The stern has risen to the point where you are parallel with the boat itself, but the people don't stop slipping away. From your position, you can hear every cry, see every splash, feel the chill of every passing sea breeze. "The ship is going to suck us down," he says, probably louder than he thinks he is. It certainly causes a stir among the people who haven't gotten the hint to pull themselves up like you did, but he seems not to notice. "I want you to hold your breath just before we go under, Joseph. Keep kicking for the surface and do not ever let go of my hand."

It seems to get colder as you approach the water, and you nod. It has to have only been a few hours since the ship began to sink, but it feels like days that you've been trapped down there, scrambling around first to get to Caesar, then back down for Lorenzo while helping a few others. Such a magnificent ship, one you had marveled in spite of what it stood for - at least in your eyes. Your prison was sinking. Any other circumstance might have rendered it a symbol of liberation, but there was little freedom to be found when you watched your own death approaching you.

Others have taken just taking their chances by jumping off. You can't be worse off - after all, you're all going to end up in the water. But the surrounding wooden planks from the broken ship are scarce to come by, and you contemplate flinging yourself and Caesar off just to get a few boards for yourself.

As soon as the idea leaves your mind, though, Caesar shouts, "Now!" and you swallow a breath before you plunge deep into the water.

What your legs and body had grown accustomed to, your face hadn't fully gotten the brunt of it. The pain Caesar had warned you about had been only words to you, but now you know its truth. Knives seem to embed themselves into your face, your nose and eyes burning as you attempt to conserve what air you have with you, and you rapidly kick for the top. Caesar's hand is still joined with you, and it relieves you to find that you're not pulling his weight up - he must be floating his way up with you.

You can't break the surface soon enough, but when you do, you find that you hadn't in fact been holding onto Caesar. Your hand memorized the imprint of his own upon yours, seemingly making itself think that he was still holding onto you. Your lifejacket allows you to float better than others around you, who scramble and splash about. They cry out in either pain, or they're searching for others, and you find yourself joining them as you scream out the pain that still fills the hollows of your cheeks, stinging your ears and your eyes.

You frantically call out Caesar's name, unable to rise above the din of others calling for their loved ones. A brawl has broken out over a nearby floating table, which people have claimed and are now defending as their only floating device. "Caesar!" you scream over and over, making yourself hoarse. Panic seizes through you at the thought that he hadn't been able to kick himself up, either stuck to railing or dragged down by something else to the bottom of the sea with the boat.

A man's hand shoves you under the water again as he moves past, and you shout, spluttering as you pull yourself up. The action's renewed your vigor with a great shock to your system, and you continue to call for Caesar.

Finally, he responds, and waves you over to a plank he's found. He rests on top of it, half-submerged, and he slips off to help you on. "Oh, Joseph," he says, and he trembles more than you've ever seen him. The cold is really getting to him, magnified tenfold as it's the sea as a whole now swelling around you rather than the water that's managed to seem onboard. "Joseph… You're okay?"

You nod, kissing him as you settle yourself on the board. It takes a few moments to gain your balance, only for your equilibrium to be disrupted when Caesar attempts to join you. The board nearly flips over, dumping you both back in the water. You try not to shove Caesar below the surface as you fall, instead focusing your attentions on levelling the door.

"It won't work," Caesar says, and you see the wheels turning in his head. He scoops you back up onto the board and shifts away so that you can't grab him too without letting go of your perch. "Hey, look at me."

You protest loudly, flailing and kicking like a petulant child while urging him to get up. It marvels you how selfish you are, though, not relinquishing your grip so that he could get on instead. Is it the thought that he'd smack you straight back on if you'd even thought of trying. It would do no good, to be sure, for the both of you to freeze, but you refuse just to let Caesar die. "No, no!" you shout, and almost let yourself slip off when you attempt to grab his hand. He lays his hands on top of yours, ignoring your indignant cries as he lets out a shallow breath.

His face is turning blue, the sheen of his blond hair becoming faded and muted. You can barely make out the pink marks on his cheeks, and his lips lose their rosy pallor. He kisses you once, twice, and the third time he does, he shudders and it's little more than a brush.

"You listen to me," he whispers, and his voice is hollow. There's a lull in the noise around you, a significant difference from the screams of agony and confusion. Bodies float in the water, lifejacket or no, and you force yourself to continue looking at Caesar. "You are going to live, all right, Joseph? Even if I don't. You're going to find someone. You're going to love them. Be it man or woman, you are going to love them just as much as you do me. Maybe even more. Are you listening?"

You nod, unable to say more as your lips shake. Tears slip down your cheeks before you can realize, freezing before they can slide off your face. Little crystals that used to be droplets adorn the both of you, serving as painful reminders of just how cold the Atlantic waters were.

"You're going to be happy, and you're going to be in love. You're going to have babies, Joseph. So many babies." He stutters as he speaks, teeth chattering and he has to take a few moments to clear his throat. He sounds hoarse, but he forges on. "You're going to be happy, so help me God, Joseph. You're going to live a full life, and you're going to move on from me, and you'll be the greatest that you've ever been. You'll earn a good wage, you'll be a good husband. You'll be a good, happy person, Joseph. Promise me."

"I promise," you manage to whisper, brokenly. Your voice cracks but you no longer find it in yourself to care. "I'll never let go, Caesar. I'll never let go." You slip your hands from underneath his to hold him tight, ignoring the magnified cold the action brings you.

"Thank you," Caesar mumbles, and he allows himself to float. You relax slightly, despite the fact your lower half is submerged in the water, and you press little kisses against his hand. "I love you, Joseph."

"I love you too," you whisper, and get a low, quiet hum in response.

The silence of those about you hits you then, and you look around you. No one is screaming anymore. No one is moving. Their faces are frozen, twisted in pain and terror. They died like this, in wretched agony and fear. Some of them are solidified in terrifying positions, their hands raised as if some angel would come pluck them out of the water. They reach for the sky, for God, but He never came to save them. It horrifies you, but what makes everything worse is when you turn to look at Caesar again.

He looks asleep. His eyes are closed, his mouth slightly ajar, only devoid of a snore. But he can't fall asleep, you think. His body heat would dissipate within minutes, he wouldn't be able to keep himself even slightly warm in the water. Frozen droplets of water cling to his eyelashes, and his lips look a striking electric blue.

"Caesar?" you whisper. There's no response. You probably weren't loud enough - maybe water was still stuck in his ears and so he couldn't hear you. "Caesar?" Oh, good. You're louder this time. At least your voice actually amounts to something. He still doesn't say anything.

Maybe you should shake him. A gentle movement of his arm does nothing to stir him, and so you decide to kiss his forehead to wake him up. Perhaps affection is the key. You brush his hair away, starchy and dry, to press your lips against the flesh of his forehead. It's cold, and his headband is plastered to his skin.

Nothing.

"Caesar," you murmur, shaking him again. "No, Caesar… Caesar…" All you can do is say his name over and over again, shaking him in order to wake him up. You don't want to believe that he won't, that his corpse floats before you. Caesar looks like a porcelain doll, cheeks starch white, but his lips are a horrifying shade rather than the alluring pinkish tone they had been before. "Caesar, wake up… Caesar?"

You had to have known that this would happen. Caesar couldn't possibly have survived the harsh cold water, wishful thinking be damned. Not only does his body match the temperature of ice, it matches the texture, the malleability. Your attempts to entwine your fingers fail, as he clenches tightly onto the door that you were floating on. "Caesar, I'll never let go," you say softly, your breathing labored. You wonder if the water could get any more closer, and a beam shines in your face.

You wince at the bright light, but realize it must be a boat looking for survivors. Surely, there had to be some space, even for a man of your great girth. Caesar had bade you promise him to live a fulfilling life, satisfied and sated after everything you did. The beam of light passes over you again, and the boat nearly passes you by.

The people around you are dead, you realize. They must have thought you were one of them, too. Among the nameless corpses that died in the sea just like Caesar did. You can't let the boat slip away, though. You can't break your promise to Caesar.

You launch yourself off the door, letting out a gasp as the water hits you fully again. You try to paddle towards the boat, shouting. It's not quite a shout, though. Your noises are futile, too quiet for the boat to hear. You see Mark, horrifyingly stuck with his arms folded over his chest as half of his body is submerged so that he looks as though he's laying on his right side. As you try to move closer, you find that a crewman floats nearby, a whistle frozen to his lips.

It takes some work to pry it from his mouth, and you somehow remove it without tearing his lips off, and without breaking any fingers. You raise it to your own mouth and blow as hard as you can. You wave an arm as you do, continue to blow the whistle as you struggle to multitask, kicking so that you keep afloat, waving your arm to catch the beam of light, and to continue whistling to gather the boat's attention.

"Help!" you shout as they get in range. You seem to have been successful in waving them over, and a group of sturdy hands pull you onto the boat. You hit the deck with a groan, the sudden feeling of being completely out of the water leaving a cold sting all over your body. You regain your footing and flop yourself into a seat. The crewman on the lifeboat asks you if you had seen any other survivors, and you have half a mind to ask them to retrieve Caesar's body. You had no one to return it to, though, as his siblings had scattered all over the world and hadn't kept in touch with their eldest brother.

The crewman asks you again, adopting a much kinder tone as he helps someone wrap their shawl around your shuddering frame, coupled with a scarf wound around your neck, calling you "son", and you shake your head.

The boat passes by again your cluster of survivors again, and you catch glimpses of people you'd seen in Third Class with Caesar. Mark's feet are all that remain of him, his body slowly sinking as Lola's grandfather lies face down. Only so many have life jackets on, to your dismay and horror, and you wonder that if Caesar had donned one himself, if he could have managed to survive with you.

A woman offers you her arm, wrapping it around your shuddering frame as she murmurs words of comfort in your ear, and you can't help but relax into her grip as her dulcet tones wash over you. She tells you to stay awake, and she's right, but you're having some difficulty doing so, and so you pinch yourself periodically to keep sleep at bay.

It's over now. The ship you'd considered to be your glorified prison now rests at the bottom of the ocean, your family separated from you, probably believing you dead, and now the love of your life has passed on after giving his life to ensure that yours would be prolonged.

The lifeboat passes by the door you floated on, but Caesar is no longer holding onto it. He's nowhere to be seen, buried underneath the icy sea.

You choke out a sob, and cry into the chest of the woman beside you.


End file.
